The Pain in the Therapist
by blc
Summary: Post PITH: What happened after B/B left the lounge, including Sweets' experiment. Dark Booth, B/B. Bones is the property of Fox and its producers. Plotline, dialogue are author's. Days 6 & 7 at long last now up, and many, many thanks for your patience.
1. Prologue Day Seven

The week had been tiring, and I'd stayed late at the lab with the team after the culmination of the events involving Dr. Addy, trying to help them cope with the situation. I wanted to follow the two whose reactions I was most interested in after she disappeared down the side stairs, and he got up to follow, but as I started to rise from my seat, Dr. Saroyan looked at me. "Don't," she said. "Just... leave them alone." That was unexpected-- I was under the impression that she and Agent Booth had a history, and that she and Dr. Brennan did not always see eye to eye. "In fact... leave us alone. We need to be together right now." The other two team members nodded. I wondered about whether I should push the issue, but the look of warning on the pathologist's face convinced me that I would do better to revisit the issue later, when their emotional wounds were less raw. I nodded, said something neutral in goodbye, and took my leave. When I reached the garage, his truck was gone, but her car was still here, though I saw no sign of her on my way out of the lab. Interesting.

I went back to my office for several hours, to record my observations while they were still fresh, and then, satisfied that I had sufficient working notes made, closed down and headed home. It had been a long day.

The next few days were long as well, and I allowed it to pass when he canceled their appointment two days later. I tried going down to his office once, but he wasn't there, and one of his desk agents, Charlie, advised that Agent Booth had taken some time off, after coming in the day after the tactical assault on Gormogon's lair for a few hours to do paperwork. Well, that was a healthy reaction to the situation, to take time off after a culmination of several stressful events to regroup. I also heeded Dr. Saroyan's warning, staying away from the lab. When the rest of the week passed, however, I decided it was time to reestablish connections, and left messages with him and with her at their offices and on their cell phones, advising them that they needed to call and reschedule. I wasn't surprised not to reach him, but I was surprised when my several calls to her office went unanswered. She was usually there.

All of this was in my mind as I dragged in at the end of the week, tired and looking forward to takeout and a movie. As soon as flicked on the lights while locking the door behind me, he was there, his hand on my throat, pinning me to the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed, an expression of fury on his face like I'd never seen on anyone's before. He'd left me just enough breathing room to answer, not so much that I wasn't already starting to shake.

"What... what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I think you know," he said, his eyes boring into me.

I'd never seen him like this. He was a consummate agent in many ways, and when not in the thick of a chase and the natural attendant altercations resulting in the capture of a suspect, he rarely, if ever, resorted to violence. He always kept whatever anger he felt leashed, behind a mask of disinterest, or studied amusement, or disdain and contempt of the suspects. But now, he was furious, enraged, and it was all focused on me.

"Agent Booth," I said, "you really should let me go," I tried to reason, impressed by my mind's ability to keep up with the situation even as my more animal instincts were telling me to cower or flee if I got the chance. "I don't think it would look good were I to report that you broke into my apartment and assaulted me."

His grip didn't vary, and his expression didn't waver. "See, that's interesting, Sweets," he drawled. "Here I was thinking it wouldn't look too good if I reported that the reason you didn't tell my partner I was dead had nothing to do with national security, and everything to do with your sick little psychological mind games. That you played on your own patients. Now, I'm no expert, but I believe that comes under the subject of Human Studies, and I'm quite sure that you never got your little mind games approved by any Human Studies Review Board. I do know the Bureau doesn't even have one." How the _hell_ did he know that?

He smiled as I swallowed, hard, and began to sweat, as my mind rolled over and played dead, silently saying to myself, "Give it up."

"I thought so," he said, "I think that the Bureau would be very interested to know that rather than doing your job of ensuring that its agents and contractors function effectively, you decided to test the bonds of their partnership, trying to see where the breaking point might be." His grip on my throat tightened then. "That, _Doctor_ Sweets, is most definitely not your job. I also think they wouldn't appreciate learning that the partnership that you picked to _experiment_ on had the highest solve rate in the country. I don't think they'd like that at all." He pulled me forward, then turned and slammed me into the wall next to the door by the throat, so hard I saw stars.

The coward in me whimpered, "She said she wouldn't tell you."

He laughed at me then. Laughed? "She didn't. There's a reason you can't have my Ranger file, Sweets, and don't think I don't know that you asked for it. Do you honestly, truly think I don't know how mind games designed to undermine someone's basic psychological foundations are played?"

I'd underestimated him-- seriously so. He saw the realization dawn on my face, and laughed at me again. "You are an _amateur_," he said with scorn, "compared with what I know about mind games. Compared to what I can do with mind games. And considering what I or my friends have done to people who have tried to play mind games with me or the people I care about."

He pulled me forward, only to slam me back into the wall once again-- I'd just been starting to get my breath and my senses back from the last impact, and he knew it.

Leaning in, his eyes inches away from mine, and his voice utterly cold with fury. "This is your one and only warning. Anything I might ever have done in the past to get even with someone who tried to mess with me or my friends? It's nothing, compared to the pain I will bring you if you ever play games with my partner again." His voice held not promise, but certainty.

I nodded agreement-- even if his grip on my throat hadn't been too tight to prevent me from speaking, I was too scared to make any sound at this point.

"That goes for the rest of the team, too. You will be on your best, most professional behavior from now on, and you will never forget that we had this conversation, even as you will never mention that we ever had it."

I nodded again. I had no other choice, and I knew it. My career would be over if he ever told anyone what I'd done.

"Good," he said, slamming me back into the wall one last time. "One last instruction. Don't call us. We'll call you." He let go then, and through the stars I was seeing all over again, I noticed that he pulled his sleeve over his hand as he opened the doorknob and went out in the hall, shutting the door silently behind him, but not before he turned and said, "Be sure to lock up now, Doctor Sweets. You never know who might try to get in."

My knees collapsed under me. I was sure that if I went down to the security desk, the guard would deny ever seeing him. And I was sure that whatever security tapes there might be wouldn't show him. It would be as if he was never here, as if all of this was a figment of my imagination, conjured as a delayed response to the guilt that began to grow as I saw her get up and walk away after saying, "I never gave him anything." He'd gripped my neck through the fabric, and I'm sure there would be no finger marks in the morning. The door and the wall were unscathed, and as hard as he'd slammed me into the wall, somehow, I'd never struck my head. There would be no telltale bruises or bumps to confirm my story-- only my word against his. His messing with me had begun.

--

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**_

_**I'm debating whether to go back and do a few chapters on Booth and Brennan's week out of work, and what happened after the two of them left the lab. Please let me know if you're interested!**_


	2. Day One

After he read her Zach's letter, and she accepted it, they sat there quietly, her head on his shoulder and his head resting on hers, both exhausted and heart-sore from the day's revelations. Zack's letter, still held in her hand in front of her, was shaking, just slightly. As he watched it the paper waver in the nonexistent breeze, he gripped his hands harder together, to control his own shakes, the ones he always got after ending another life. He never got the shakes beforehand-- he was too good a shot. This life that he'd ended, he regretted less than most others, though the good but ironic Catholic in him was at least glad that he had _some_ regret. He'd have less guilt when he went to confession.

"Come on, Bones," he said, deciding. She lifted her head from his shoulder, and pushed up on her knees to stand. Silently, she headed down the stairs to her office, he following, his hand at her back as the reached walked across the floor of the lab, both going more slowly than usual.

Once back in her office, she grabbed her purse from the floor. She hadn't even tried to do work when the team returned from the hospital, and nothing needed to be shut down, or put away. There was paperwork for the case, from before their realization of who the Apprentice was, still on her coffee table, but her stomach turned over at the thought of looking at it right now. She and Booth would have to finish it, sometime, but right now, her usual drive for efficiency took a back seat to how she was feeling. Compartmentalization just wasn't going to happen right now, not since she'd pushed through how she felt at the hospital long enough to convince Zach to tell she and Booth how to find Gormogon. That effort had taken all her energy, and after Booth had left the hospital to meet the tactical team, she'd gone to the bathroom and just sat there, an hour or more, her thoughts swirling, until Angela came looking for her. She'd come to no conclusions, found no new insights, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but feel abandoned by Zach-- even as she felt that she'd also abandoned him, and allowed this to happen without her notice.

He was waiting, his hands by his sides, when she turned back to the door. He came to give her a "guy hug," but she stopped him, her hand on his chest and pain in her eyes. "Don't. Please. I... need to go home before I..." He nodded, accepting her unspoken admission that she wouldn't be able to hold it together here in the lab, otherwise. He understood. This was her home, and she needed to maintain some illusion of control over it, even as everything had already gone to Hell. She knew it, but if she broke down crying here, it would be all the harder to come back, and return to work.

"Want a ride home?" he asked, instead.

She nodded, and let him lead her out the door of her office and to the garage.

- - - - -

Booth's thoughts were aswirl as he drove to her apartment, both of them silent with their own thoughts. His own circled, contradictorily-- angry and guilty all at once. How could Zach do this? What was he thinking? Why didn't he come to either Bones or him? Didn't he trust them? What could possibly convince someone seemingly as gentle as Zach that this was the right thing to do? His stomach turned over at the thought that anyone could think it was ethically acceptable to kill anyone. Killing was a sin, no matter who it was. And why... why hadn't Booth seen it? Of all of them, he knew best how war could warp the way you see things. He should have known that someone like Zach would have a harder time coping with whatever he'd seen. He wasn't made to deal with anything that wasn't utterly clinical. And war was far from clean or scientific. The fact that they'd sent him home so quickly should have been a sign that something heavy was up. The way the kid's sense of weird squinty humor had disappeared should have tipped him off, too.

And Sweets. Booth was too furious to do anything but seriously hurt the kid now, and that would solve nothing, and only get him administrative leave or worse. Though he pretended he hadn't, he'd overheard the kid's "pie as a form of seduction," comment, and a lightbulb had clicked. The bastard was _playing_ with them-- playing with Bones, though he should know better. He'd deliberately played on her fears of abandonment, and not told her about Booth's death because he wanted to see how she'd react. Sweets treated her like a lab rat-- not a patient whose interests he was supposed to protect. Booth heard her confront Sweets on the stairs on the way to the vault-- the metal materials and his own keen sense of hearing made it impossible not to, even as he was a good dozen paces in front of them. He was proud of her for the way she'd stood up to Sweets, and the way she had threatened him. He had no doubt Bones would kick the kid's ass if she wanted to, but it still didn't change the fact that she'd suffered for two weeks. He had his own guilt to bear at not calling her himself, and that wouldn't change, but at least he hadn't tried to deliberately hurt her. Sweets, however, had either ignored the hurt his actions would inflict, out of some sick scientific interest, or was so clueless about who Brennan was that he honestly thought Bones would be able to deal with it. Booth wasn't sure which was worse. Either way, it was a situation he'd have to deal with, later, when he'd calmed down.

He looked over at his partner, then. Her face seemed outwardly calm, and anyone who didn't know her like he did would think she was merely contemplative. But he knew better. When Bones was really thinking something interesting over, she always wore the hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth. Thinking made her happy, most of the time. But when she was trying to think over something that brought up all her insecurities, she pasted on that calm mask-- except sometimes, her chin would almost infinitesimally quiver. That meant to him, at least, that she needed a guy hug, or a cry, or to get the hell out of wherever she was so she could go be alone and do whatever it was that she did when her heart was broken again.

He was going to have to make her talk about what happened... before Zach turned out to be the Apprentice. He'd never seen her display so much anger before, even when they were dealing with suspects who'd particularly angered her. That she would let go of her usual calm, or her deadly cold sarcasm, and fly off the handle like that, laying him out on the ground instead of the welcome he'd hoped for-- and that she'd then still be so mad that she'd break in on him in his own house to let him have it some more-- well, clearly he'd fucked up big time, Sweets aside, and he was going to have to do some serious apologizing. He'd sworn to himself he wouldn't ever leave her, and he'd promised her aloud after the murder at her lab that he wouldn't betray her, but in some sense he had-- because he hadn't taken that extra step to make sure she knew. Booth ought to have known better-- other people were just unreliable. And putting Zach on top of that? Well-- he'd just have to see, and be careful, and do what he could.

She felt him look over at her several times in the car, but was relieved that he still hadn't said anything. The longer she thought about it, the worse she felt. Booth had to kill someone again, and this time there was a long build-up that was most logically laid at her own feet-- she'd made her partner and friend have to kill someone again, even if it was a murderer who could be said to deserve it, if anyone did. But she knew he counted each death the same-- he didn't measure the goodness or evil of the people he killed, he just hated each time equally. If she'd noticed that Zach had been distant since coming back from Iraq. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in her father's return and upcoming trial. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with her cases with Booth that to spend the time mentoring Zach that she should have. There were a long trail of ifs, but each of them were something she could have done something about, and all of them led to the ultimate conclusion-- that there was no longer any choice about killing Gormogon, rather than capturing him and making him stand trial for the horrors he'd committed.

She supposed she still ought to be angry with Booth for not telling her, and a part of her still was-- but mostly, she was so relieved and something else still too scary to think about that he was alive. She still preferred his company to anyone else's. It had happened gradually, and she hadn't realized it at first, but it was true. Temperance Brennan was never one to deny the truth, once she realized it, though dealing with it was another thing. She'd have to deal with the something else too scary to think about, soon, but in the meantime, he was alive, and that was what counted.

"Chinese or Thai?" he asked, breaking the silence about five minutes away from her apartment.

"I'm not really hungry," she said. It was true. The thought of food right now made her nauseous.

He kept his mouth shut. She'd been at the lab since before he arrived there at seven that morning, and neither of them had eaten lunch-- she'd figured out it was Zach around eleven, and the day was a blur after that. She hated it when he nagged her to eat, so he just said, "Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to order myself something, still."

"That's fine," she said, accepting his unspoken assertion that he was coming upstairs and staying long enough to eat something. And certainly, he would need something-- however short the tactical raid might have been, he would have burned a significant amount of adrenaline and would need to replenish his nutrients. She listened to him call the delivery service on his cell phone, and said nothing when he placed their usual order, enough food for them both. She was simply relieved that he was planning on coming up. Her apartment had been... empty the two weeks he was dead, and it would be even emptier tonight if she spent too much time thinking about Zach. If he was there to distract her, she might even get some sleep, later. Truth be told, she hadn't really had more than two or three hours a night since he'd been shot, and despite her usual stamina and overall level of fitness, she knew two and a half weeks of minimal sleep was not healthy for anyone. But sleep only lasted until she fell into REM sleep, at which point she always woke again, gasping, the same dream of blood and him falling and the gun in her hand replaying endlessly if she tried to go back to sleep.

"I'll be back shortly," she said, when they came in and he locked the door behind them, then headed back to her bedroom. He'd never been in there, though he sometimes caught a glimpse on his way to the bathroom. The door was usually closed, almost all the way, and as much as he poked and prodded at her personally, he wasn't going to go in there, uninvited. Especially since an invitation was the thing he wanted most in the world. Definitely not the time to think about that, he chided himself.

Her apartment was pristine, as usual. He didn't know how she found the time to clean, given all the time she spent at the lab and at work-- unless she was spending time cleaning rather than sleeping. He did stay up cleaning, sometimes, when sleep was no rest because of what dreams brought. He went to the fridge to see what she had to drink-- the fridge was as empty as usual, condiments, beer, half a bottle of white wine, some takeout containers. He opened them, curiously, then cursed himself all over again. It looked like the dried-out remains of the Mexican they'd eaten the last time he was over-- almost a week before he was shot. Had she really not eaten at home in all that time? It looked like it-- there were the same number of beers as were left at the end of the night when they'd finished their paperwork and he'd gone home. Had she just... paused? Probably. He'd have to check with Angela, later, and find out who the hell had been taking care of her while he'd been out of the loop. She did look a little thinner, and paler, now that he thought of it. Fragile. Damned Sweets. Damned Zach. Damned himself, too.

The doorbell rang. "I got it, Bones!" he called, and there was a faint "_fine_," from the back. He paid the delivery guy, and brought the delivery containers over to the coffee table, after grabbing some forks and plates and the cloth napkins she preferred to '_wasting more environmentally unsound paper products_.'

"Beer, Bones, or tea?"

"Tea," came the response. He got back up and started the kettle, then returned to the couch and forked out some of the takeout onto a plate for himself, taking a long pull of his beer. He was starving, which he supposed was some sort of thing he ought to feel guilty about, but the rush of leading a team and making sure no one except the target was hurt left him feeling physically hollow, too, when everything was over. At least Collins would be fine-- that knife had only pierced his shoulder. He'd be back at work in two weeks.

Booth made it halfway through his first plate of food when she came out, having changed from her suit into knit pants and a sweatshirt too big for her. The kettle just started to shrill, and she waved at him to stay seated as he started to get up. "I've got it, thanks, you keep eating," she said, walking past and into the kitchen, making the clattering and cupboard noises she always did with her little tea rituals.

Brennan found the herb tea she wanted, that the old woman in her first home stay at that dig in Turkey recommended, "calming in times of trouble." She watched, unthinking, as she poured the water over the leaves in the pot and watched them swirl and color the water as they steeped, the water steaming and sending fragrance into the air. When the requisite steeping time passed, she got out her strainer and poured the tea into a cup, not bothering with sweetener. The leaves' astringency and bitterness were a match for her mood-- she didn't want sweetness tonight, just real things, not covered over with any kind of false veneer.

She sat in the chair opposite the couch, curling her legs up under her and cupping both her hands around the tea mug as he continued to work on the food he'd forked out for himself. He'd brought out a plate and a fork for her, just in case, she supposed. But he was intent on his food, as he often was after some intense physical exertion, and for once wasn't looking straight back at her with that unsettling, warming, penetrating look he had, that made her feel naked. If anyone else looked at her like that, she'd have cut them out of her life instantly-- but it was him, so it was alright, whatever that meant. As he ate, then, she stared at him over the steam of her mug, satisfying herself of his solidity. He wasn't chalk white, losing blood on the floor in front of her, now.

She looked down into her tea as she took another sip, letting the hot liquid warm her, willing the calming properties of the herb to work this time, as it hadn't on other nights since his shooting. She knew she'd sought a false panacea. If she felt better tonight, it was because he was here-- not because some silly tea prescribed by some wizened old wisewoman finally took medicinal effect.

He knew she was watching him as he worked on his food, but he didn't say anything. God knows he did more than his own fair share of staring at her when she wasn't looking straight at him. She was a sight for sore eyes, literally, and not just because she was objectively gorgeous-- it just made him feel better, more real, seeing her. He'd missed her every damned day in that stupid safe house, missed talking to her on the phone and dragging her out for food at the diner. He'd missed working with her and hearing her voice, missed her perfume and the way she'd let him help her with her coat or place his hand at her back or elbow.

He wondered what Sweets thought they talked about, how they spent their time when they weren't working together. They'd both agreed, without talking about it, that it was none of Sweets' business how they handled their paperwork, how they kept in touch by phone or over food at the diner when they weren't working cases. And mostly, they didn't rat out the other in session-- if one of them admitted something personal, it was of their own decision, and not because the other one had blamed them or goaded them into it. One more thing that made Sweets incapable of understanding what a true partnership was. But if the kid was really any good at his job, he would have made the effort, or asked. That he hadn't should have tipped Booth off that he was less interested in really headshrinking them, and more interested in looking at them through his psychobabble microscope.

When he finished scarfing his first plate of food, he looked up at her, briefly. She was staring down into her cup as he picked up the next container and starting dumping out more. "Good, as usual," he muttered around a mouthful of country style spicy pad thai. With tofu. Ugh. But she liked it, and he'd eaten worse stuff than spongy white bean curd.

"Glad to hear it," she said, quietly.

"There's veggie summer rolls," he said, opening the next container and grabbing one for himself, and dumping a smear of peanut sauce onto his plate. She thought for a moment, then leaned forward and took the other one and the rest of the sauce in the container, and began to eat it, slowly. Well, some food was better than nothing, he thought, even if it was all herbs and rice paper and noodles, no meat.

He got up before his third plate of food and grabbed another beer. "Water?" he asked.

"Sure," she responded, so he pulled out a glass and ran the tap for a minute before filling it up.

"Here you go," he said, handing it to her when he got back, and settled down to start in on the mee krab. She took a sip, leaving the glass on the table, then sat forward and dumped the rest of the country pad thai onto the other plate. He inwardly heaved a sigh of relief, but said nothing as she started in on her food, eating almost absently as she stared down at her plate. Now it was his turn to stare. She was thinner, he was right, and she was paler, too. Goddamnit. She was gorgeous, still, of course, but she just looked worn out. No wonder. He finished his third plate and set it down, finally feeling a little less hollow. He'd better leave her some leftovers, since he wasn't going to push it so far as to order her groceries and fill up her fridge again. He invaded her privacy enough as it was.

She finished her plate and set it down, looking up to catch his eyes as he watched her, and gave him a small smile, then unfolded herself from her chair and walked back to the kitchen with her waterglass. He decided he was done, too, and stacked all the plates and containers, snagging the beers bottles with his other hand as he followed her into the kitchen. Standing side by side, he closed up the takeout containers, then walked behind her to toss them onto a shelf in the fridge as she put the dishes into the dishwasher and rinsed out the beer bottles. The whiff of her perfume as he passed her grabbed him, and when he turned back from the fridge, he couldn't hold back anymore. Wrapping his arms around her waist while her back was to him, he pulled her close-- a different hug from his quote-unquote guy hugs. She didn't pull back, just laid her own arms atop his at her waist, and leaned back into him, her head resting against the side of his neck.

"I missed you, Bones," he said, wondering what to say next. He hadn't planned this-- he'd intentionally avoided ever rehearsing any speeches to her about all the things he felt. Superstitiously, he felt that if he rehearsed it, then in a weak moment, it would come pouring out, and ruin things. So much for maintaining tight control.

"I missed you too," she said, softly, her arms tightening across his. He pulled her closer, then, closing his eyes and letting himself soak in the warmth and scent of her, as she did the same. Neither knew how long it was from when he first circled her waist until when the phone rang, but both jerked, startled, by the sudden noise interrupting the moment. She turned in his arms, looking past him to look at the caller ID, then leaned under his arm to retrieve the headset from the receiver. He let go then, but she didn't step fully away, just cocked her head to the side as she answered with one hand, the other resting on one of his arms.

"Hi, Angela. No, I'm okay. Yes, Booth drove me home. She did? Well... no, that makes sense. Truth be told, I was thinking of staying home tomorrow anyway." She paused, listening to some lengthier question, then said, "No, I ate. You keep Hodgins company. He... needs you. I'll be fine." There was another pause, and then she said, "Sure. I'll call you tomorrow. That might be nice. Goodnight."

She hung up then, and reached past him again to put down the headset. "Angela," she explained, looking up at him. "Wanted to make sure I was home and not down in Limbo somewhere. Cam closed the lab for tomorrow."

"Nothing there that can't wait," he said, slightly speechless as how close she was standing. She nodded, then looked down at the hand she'd left on his arm, as if she'd forgotten about it. She flushed, then, and looked down, embarrassed by how obvious she'd allowed herself to be, when she was sure he was simply expressing the fact that he'd missed her, as a friend. And embarrassed and ashamed and terrified all at once, as she suddenly perceived the truth of _what _she was being obvious about. She'd missed him like she missed something she hadn't known was missing before—some part of her that hadn't been there before him. Is that what he would call love—the non-platonic kind?

He caught her flush, and his heart thumped, painfully, wondering what she was embarrassed about. Of their own accord, before he could decide if it was a very good, or a very bad idea, his arms pulled her into him again, and again, she didn't shy away. Instead, her hands found his lower back, her small hands pressing into him just at his beltline. Her heart was hammering in her ribcage-- he could feel it in her chest, pressed against his. Her face was pressed into the join of his neck and shoulder, and she heaved a deep sigh, her breath hot and moist against the fabric of his shirt.

"I did miss you, Booth," she mumbled. "Don't die again, please."

This time his heart practically stopped at her half-whispered '_please_.' "I'll try, Bones. I'm sorry I..."

She pulled back a bit, though her arms stayed in place behind him. Smiling slightly, her eyes glittering, she looked up at him and said, "I should be madder, but I'm not. I'll get over it."

"You shouldn't have to get over anything. He should have told you, and I should have called."

She shook her head, saying, "Yes, on both of those things, but things happen, and I'm glad you're okay, that's all."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he changed the subject, a little. "I heard what you said to him, about his little experiment."

She snorted, smiling slightly. "I figured you might, though I did at least try to be quiet. I get first dibs on punching him, though."

He couldn't help it-- he burst out laughing, all the tension of the last week coming out in what threatened to become hysterical laughter if he didn't lock it down. He let go of her, wrapping his arms around himself trying to remind his lungs to take full breaths. At the same time, she started laughing almost instantly, his response pulling her own out of her, but she lost her grasp on the edge of her own roiling emotions, and her breathless laughter quickly became hyperventilation.

Her gasping wheezes jolted him out of his own laughter, as he straightened and took her in, her eyes wide as she struggled to regain her breath. "Hey, hey," he said, pulling her to him again, as tight as he could, rubbing his hands firmly over her back as she continued to gasp. "Hey, Temperance, breathe, alright, deep breaths now, don't waste it on Sweets. Come on, there, Bones." She struggled, still, her chest jerking against his as he rubbed her back harder. "Come on," he said, "come on now, deep breaths."

Despite his urging and her own desperate need not to lose it in front of him, she couldn't concentrate at all, couldn't form a clear determination to breathe deeply, and focus on something like his warm hands trying to soothe her. The next thing she knew, he'd pushed her down onto the floor, her back against her counters, and shoved her head over, between her knees, his hand still stroking her back as the other held her head down. "Shh, shh, Bones, come on," he repeated. She closed her eyes and willed herself to concentrate, to not do this right now. He didn't need to be dealing with this when he had a new life on his list to atone for. It was going to be bad enough, these next few weeks, trying to clean up after the mess Zach made. There were sure to be reviews, both at the lab and at the Bureau, questions about why neither one of them clued in to the Apprentice's identity. He didn't need her falling apart on top of everything else. Gasping, she opened her eyes, staring at her kitchen floor tiles and the grout, trying to concentrate on anything except more upsetting thoughts.

"Temperance, shh," he tried, hoping to God she'd calm down since the only other things he knew how to do to calm someone down who was hyperventilating like she was would be to slap her or dump her into a cold shower-- neither of which he wanted to do. He could never lay a violent hand on her, even to make her come back to herself. Goddamnit, he was going to kill Sweets-- after he killed himself for setting her off like this.

Finally, she managed to get herself a little more under control, and started to draw deeper, more even breaths. "Attagirl, Bones," he said, "that's the ticket, deep breaths, come on." He kept repeating himself, losing track of time as he continued stroking her back, letting go of the back of her head when it became clear she was regaining control of herself. "Come on, Temperance."

"Sorry," she wheezed, finally, still staring at the intersecting grout lines on the floor, and afraid to look up at him, as much as she wanted him to hold her again.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he said, softly. "But your floor is cold. Let's go sit on the sofa, my tired old ass is freezing." As he hoped, it forced a snort out of her, and she lifted her head, a pained but wry smile on her face as she looked at him.

"You're hardly old," she said, pushing herself up to standing, "but the floor is cold." She went and sat on the sofa, curling her legs back under herself.

She did that when she was feeling... small, he realized suddenly. Curled in on herself. Like someone was going to kick her. His poor Bones. Well, there was no one here to observe him entering unprofessionally close personal space, so he sat down right next to her, and worked his arm between the cushion and her shoulders, pulling her close again. It comforted him to be able to feel her this close to him, feel her chest rising and falling against his side, relieved to just be with her again. She leant into him further, eventually, her legs uncurling to join his on the coffee table in front of them. She laid her head on his shoulder again, and he rested his head atop hers, an echo of the way they'd been sitting hours earlier, in the stairwell. This time, though, neither thought of anything-- they were just being, together. Each lost their focus and drifted asleep at the same time, lulled by the warmth and rhythmic rise and fall of the other's breathing.


	3. Day Two

Day Two

At some point, he became aware of something digging painfully into his hip, and opened his eyes slowly, knowing instinctively he wasn't at home, but not yet remembering where, exactly, he was. Then a whiff of her hair as he trained his senses reminded him. They must have fallen asleep on her couch. He was half lying on his side, the holster of his weapon half under him, and she was curled under his arm on the other side. Ah. He sat up, slowly so as not to disturb her, and just enough to pull off the holster and weapon. He dug into his pocket for his phone, and placed them on the coffee table while moving as little as possible. She shifted, and mumbled, as he tried to decide what to do next. It was pre-dawn, the sky dark but slowly turning the grey that gradually turns to the pearl light preceding sunrise, and he judged it had been four or five hours at least since they'd sat again on her sofa. Certainly, it was the first solid block of sleep he'd had since he was shot, at least after he left the hospital and didn't have the painkillers to make him sleep through the night. He kept waking up three hours in, at the start of his REM cycle, dreaming of what might have happened if he hadn't stood when he heard Pam Nunan's voice.

Sleep deprivation was a viable and eventually, very effective form of torture. Keep someone awake for days, and then, finally, let the subject get just into their REM cycle, then wake them, demanding information again while they were still groggy, confused, unable to know where they were or what happened. Beat them or use whatever other physical torture du jour if they don't give it up right away, then keep them awake or days before letting them sleep again-- and repeat, until the one seeking information gets what they're looking for. If they have enough time, the subject will eventually break-- the body can only take so much, in the end. The only thing to do was to try to make yourself strong enough to try to last long enough for them to find you before you broke-- Booth had managed to hold out the two times it had happened to him. He honestly didn't know how close he might have been to breaking, that last time. But self-inflicted sleep deprivation? Not being able to sleep for fear of what your own mind would conjure when you finally passed into dream sleep? He sometimes thought it was worse, because how do you make an enemy worth resisting out of your own brain and heart?

He'd slept tonight, though-- his enemy brain and heart had subsided. The decision, in the end, was easy, though he expected Bones would call it inertia. He shifted, sliding down on the sofa so he could stretch out, and pulled her up alongside him, settling her head on his chest as he pulled the throw on the back of the couch over them. She sighed, and shifted, her hand coming to lie across his waist. He let the hand not under her waist and around her back find the one she'd laid across him, and took it lightly, not willing to think about waking, yet.

--

They were both woken by the clatter of his phone buzzing on her coffee table. She startled up at the noise as he jerked under her, looking around wildly to find what was making the noise. Ah. His phone. As she sat forward, she picked it up, feeling him sit up behind her, so she turned and handed it to him, still too sleep mazed to move further now that the immediate problem was dealt with. It was full light out, and with shock, she saw that the clock on the microwave read eight thirty in the morning. She hadn't slept this late in she didn't know how long.

"Hello," he croaked. "God, what the hell time is it, Charlie?" He listened, then groaned. "Nah, shit, I must have forgot to turn my alarm on last night. Just... I'll be in as soon as I can. Call me if he comes by again. Yeah... thanks."

He flipped his phone shut and groaned, rubbing his face, as she rubbed her own, still disbelieving she'd slept the night through. "Sorry," he said. "Charlie said the Director just came by looking for me, wanting a verbal on yesterday."

She nodded, managing to make her still-slumberous legs swing to the floor. "You left some things here that time after that rainstorm last month-- I washed them but forgot to give them back. I'll go get them-- you can use the shower, there's extra towels in the cabinet."

She pushed herself up and propelled herself back to her bedroom, digging through the shelf on top of her closet to find the now-washed clothes he'd peeled off in favor of the extra things he had in his truck the last time they'd gotten caught out in a rainstorm. His apartment was being fumigated, so she had offered him her shower and the couch for the night, and had washed his things the next day. Walking back out, she saw him still sitting, half-dazed, rubbing his head as he looked confusedly around. "Here you go," she said, holding the things out to him.

"Thanks," he said, shaking his head, then standing and dumping the rest of his pockets' contents on the coffee table. "Damn. What a rude awakening," he grumbled, tucking the things under his arm and walking off to the bathroom. She shook her head, looking down at the jumble of things that looked at home cluttered on her coffee table-- his weapon and badge, phone, wallet and keys, change and his poker chip. Make coffee, Temperance, she thought to herself, remembering all the mornings he'd appeared with a tray of coffees and assorted fattening pastries. She at least owed him that-- that was the best night's sleep she'd had in she didn't know how long.

--

He practically groaned aloud when the only soap and shampoo things she had in the shower were the ones she must use every day, the green-herbal smelling things that combined with her perfume made up the smell that was uniquely hers. Not that it smelled girly on its own-- no one was going to say "New jasmine shampoo, Booth?" when he got into work, but the fact remained that he was going to smell it on himself all day, and therefore be totally distracted-- be he damned well wasn't going to bother to go home to get a suit and shower there. If the Director was pissed that he didn't dress up for an unexpected verbal report request, well, too bad. Yesterday's raid had been successful under any possible version of things, issues of why he hadn't known it was Zack aside. He could very damned well put up with Booth's stubble, t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. He was momentarily embarrassed that Bones had washed his boxers and socks, but that was water under the bridge now. He cranked the heat to almost the max, letting the heat blast the sleep from him, and bring him back to alertness. He couldn't believe he'd slept so late-- he usually was awake by six, naturally, without any need for an alarm, despite what he'd told Charlie. Thank God his desk jockeys were loyal-- he'd have to remember to thank Charlie, later.

He leaned out of the tub, fumbling across to the cabinet to drag out a towel, and almost groaned again when he started to towel off his face and hair. It smelled like her fabric softener, of course. Why did everything she owned and used have to smell so goddamned good? He looked in the mirror-- he actually looked a bit less like hell than he did yesterday. Too bad he couldn't sleep with Bones every night.

When he came out of the bathroom, he smelled the liquor of the Gods, coffee. "Bones, you're a lifesaver," he groaned, as he watched her pouring out two mugs, her back to him.

"Well, it wouldn't do for you to fall asleep on the Director," she said, her voice slightly husky from sleep. She set them on the counter that served as her work island, and reached up into her cabinets for sugar. "No cream, sorry. It's been a while since I shopped, I guess."

"I'd drink mud as long as it had caffeine in it," he said, taking up the mug and downing half at a go, black. "Thank God you don't keep that Maxwell House crap in your house though, that stuff's so weak that dishwater would do a better job waking me up." She snorted as she spooned some sugar into her own mug, the metal clanking on the sides as she stirred.

"Glad that my caffeine addiction serves you in good stead," she murmured, before picking up her own cup and closing her eyes as she inhaled the scent. He downed the next half of his coffee as he admired her long eyelashes against her cheeks, then shook himself and went to pour himself a second cup.

"Got any granola bars or trail mix or something I can eat in the car on the way over? I swear, if I stop to get something, he'll find out and kill me." She set down her cup and went to rummage in her cupboards as he added sugar to his next cup, occasionally standing up on her tiptoes to look on the higher shelves. The sweatshirt pulled up to expose the skin of her lower back as she reached up to a topmost shelf to pull something forward, and he smacked himself mentally, for staring at the two inch patch of skin he'd never seen before. Get a hold of yourself, man, he thought.

"I've got some protein bars, here," she said, pulling down a box and setting it on the counter.

"Great," he said, taking another gulp of coffee before setting the mug down and going back to the coffee table to shove all his things back in his pockets, and re-holster his weapon. Where were his shoes? Ah, under the table, there. He jammed them on his feet and turned back, taking in the sight of Bones rubbing her hand through her hair like a sleepy child. It was probably the most endearing thing he'd ever seen. Heading back, he pulled two bars at random from the box, and shoved them in his pockets as he took another gulp of his coffee. He wished he had time for another cup.

As if she was reading his mind, she said, "Just take the mug with you," she said. "I've got mugs from a million conferences." She walked over to the pot, and pulled it out, holding it up until he shoved the mug back at her, then watched as she splashed in some more, to top it off.

"Thanks, Bones, I owe you," he said, setting the mug down long enough to pull on the jacket he'd left on the chair by the door. Taking the mug up, he turned to look at her, and had a strange double vision, of the grown-up Temperance he knew and worked with every day, and a sleepy and lost little girl who looked nothing like the childhood picture he'd stolen from her parents' file, and still carried in his wallet. "You'll... don't go into work today, okay? You don't need that yet."

She nodded, seriously, and said, "I wasn't planning on it."

"Good. I'll call you later?" He had no idea how to exit gracefully, there was no time to deal with the fact that they'd spent the night wrapped in each others' arms if he wasn't going to get his ass handed to him-- so he left the last as a question, for her to answer yes or no.

"Fine," she said, smiling slightly. "Talk to you later."

He cracked a grin then, the first one he'd felt in days. She wasn't mad, or apparently freaked out. And he smelled like her shampoo. There were far worse ways to spend the day. "Thanks for the coffee," he said, opening the door and heading out.

--

She'd said once in Dr. Sweets' office that they were coffee-- and she guessed that in a way they were, or at least he was. Warm, and bracing, and soothing all at once. But now she wondered if there was more to them now, than just coffee-- and that they had been, for a long time, though it had taken her a while to "_catch up with her own reality_," as Angela had said. Before she could finish the thought, though, the phone rang-- the ID read Hodgins' home number.

"Hi, Angela."

"Good morning, sweetie. How are you?"

"Alright, thanks."

"You sound like you just woke up."

"I did. I ... managed a good night's sleep, amazingly." She was not going to tell Angela why, much less with who.

"Well, do you still want to have lunch? I don't know if I'll be able to make Jack come, he headed out to the greenhouse first thing this morning, and seems determined to repot every orchid he owns today, but I need some company."

"That would be ... good," Brennan replied. "Can we go to the vegan place near the natural foods store? I need to stop off for some groceries, after."

Angela paused, then said, "Sure. Are you planning on going to work tomorrow?"

"I don't know. I'll think about it."

"Well, we can talk about it later. Want to meet at twelve-thirty?"

"Fine with me, see you then."

She hung up the phone, then finished her coffee, regretting his sudden departure and the vacuum his presence left. The vacuum his presence always left, she realized, now. Like the sun had disappeared, or worse. Shaking her head, still bemused by her internal shift in perspective, she headed back to the bathroom, then laughed to herself as she took in his clothes from yesterday and the towel he'd used wadded into a ball on the floor. All men were the same in the end, she reflected, as she put the items into her hamper. She'd wash them later, she had to do laundry anyway.

--

He made it to the office in almost record time, and managed not to slosh coffee from the ceramic mug in the coffee holder all over his pants or the console. It was some squint conference mug like she'd said, forensic materials science or something, and it was taller and thinner, more like coffeehouse paper cups, so it actually fit well in the cup holder. He hadn't quite finished the mug when he parked, so unthinking, he grabbed it and carried it in as he hustled up the back stairs to his office. Charlie was sitting at his desk when Booth rounded the corner, and said, "He hasn't been back by yet, you made good time."

"Thanks, Charlie." Booth ducked into his office to make sure there was nothing new on fire in the form of phone messages or files-- the department secretary had left a stack of administrative crap for him to go through, but nothing urgent. He swigged the rest of his coffee, setting the mug down away from the piles all over his desk, and felt his shoulders sag at the prospect of diving right back into work. He picked up the phone and dialed the Director's secretary before he could chicken out and book it for the hills, someplace without a cell signal.

"Morning, Annie, it's Booth. I heard he was looking for me?"

"Yes, if you come up, I'll make sure he's interrupted." Well, then it sounded like he wasn't mad, just curious.

"I'll be right up, thanks." He flipped through some of the file work on his desk and decided which ones could go to his desk jockeys, then made his way back out.

"Here, kiddies, presents from Uncle Booth," he said, mock-jovially, as he dropped a file or two each on all of their desks. "Don't whine, you haven't shot anyone this week," he grumbled when they started to grumble, "and I have to go see the big guy, not you. I will note, however, that Charlie will not be getting any homework this morning, since he dropped a dime on the big guy and has therefore saved my ass for the week." Charlie smirked as the others glared at him, Marie grumbling "ass-kisser."

"Hey, Marie, none of that," Booth barked, his mood changing suddenly. "Fidelity means something around here, and Charlie showed it when he called me. It's called teamwork, look it up." The rest of the jockeys stiffened at his tone, and then busied themselves. He didn't have patience for anyone's whining right now.

"Charlie, I'll be upstairs, but if Dr. Brennan or Dr. Saroyan call, please let them know where I am, and have them send me a text if they need me." Charlie nodded, said "got it," and busied himself with the stack of papers he'd been working on when Booth first came in.

In the end, the meeting with the Director was extremely unofficial and more informal then any he'd ever had with him before, and while he didn't quite come out and say it was nobody's fault that Zach ended up being the Apprentice, except for Zach himself, Booth got the impression that any official internal inquiry would be extremely cursory. He brought the man up to date on how the raid went, and the Director advised that Collins would actually be discharged from the hospital that day.

"This must be a shock for Dr. Brennan," the Director offered.

"It is, sir," Booth said. That's all he would offer-- the rest was Bones' business. And Booth's rep in the Bureau was for keeping his mouth shut, anyway. He saved most of his talking for when he and Bones were alone, realizing each time her told her a little more something personal that until she came along, it could be days before he'd have more than a businesslike conversation with anyone. But she listened. She always did.

"I understand Dr. Saroyan closed the lab today-- I wouldn't blame anyone if they took the rest of the week off. As long as nothing pressing came up, that required their particular services, I would think that no one would complain if everyone who'd worked closely with Dr. Addy spent some time away from the workplace." The Director was looking at him as he said this, laying as thick a hint as Booth had ever heard. Suddenly, it seemed like a very good idea. The thought of pretending to go back to work as usual weighed him down, and almost outweighed all the good that the last night's full sleep did him.

"You're probably right, sir. I think anyone in that situation might find it helpful." Well, Booth wasn't going to answer directly if the Director wasn't going to offer directly-- it wouldn't do for rumor to get around the building that the Director was anything less than a workaholic hardass. "Of course, I'm sure that as professionals, they'd still make themselves available by phone for emergencies."

The Director nodded, then said, "Well, I won't keep you, and take your time on the official reports. I've got enough information to take care of any inquiries in the meantime. I'm sure you've other things to attend to."

"Thank you, sir," Booth replied, then ducked out, relieved to have been given tacit permission to take the rest of the week off. He wondered if, given the hint, Bones would take it, too.

--

"Seeley, hello," she said, picking up her cell phone.

"Cam, hi. Just wanted to tell you I had an interesting talk with the Director. He basically said he wasn't planning on sending anything over to you squints for the next week if he could help it. I'm going to bag a few more days, personally, so if you need something, call my cell. I'm just cleaning up my desk for the next hour or so, and then I'm getting out of here."

She responded, sounding surprised. "Well, that was nice of him, and it's a relief, frankly. I was not looking forward to coming in tomorrow, either, and was thinking of just telling the Board they could deal with it, but I hadn't figured out how to approach the Bureau about our not being available."

"He's not as hardass as everyone thinks he is," Booth replied. In fact, the Director was the one who had hired Booth in the first place, during what felt like the seventieth interview, though it had really only been seven-- the Director had been a Ranger a long time ago, and was a straight shooter. When he asked Booth why he wanted to join the Bureau, Booth hadn't hesitated to tell him about his list, and how he wanted to deal with it. The Director had offered him the job immediately.

"Seeley, look," Cam began. "That little dweeb of a doctor wanted to go after you and Dr. Brennan last night-- I told him to lay off for a bit, and actually told him to go home altogether, but I've got to say, he gives me the creeps, a bit. I don't think he's a bad guy, necessarily, but I think he's a little too detached from what's really going on to be of any help. And it offends me that he thinks he can."

Booth's blood boiled all over again, but he gritted his teeth and responded. "Yeah. I'm going to have to have a word with him, I think. If he drops by or bothers you in the meantime, give me a call, alright?"

"Will do," she replied. "I'll call the rest of the team and tell them that work's optional the rest of the week."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it, Cam. Thanks. And... take care, alright?"

"You too."

He hung up, relieved that she hadn't tried to talk about things, that she hadn't asked about Bones or what happened after he'd gone after her. They'd managed to go back to the friends that they'd been before he'd renewed their ill-advised fling when she first started at the lab, with a few small exceptions. He never discussed Bones with her, ever-- not since he broke it off with her, and her only response was "_I'm not surprised. I may be the boss, but I know I'll always be second fiddle around here_." He'd felt horrible, but it was true, so he hadn't bothered to lie to be polite, or save face. When it came to Queen of the Lab, Bones was it. Cam kept things running efficiently, and was better at the P.R. and administrative crap that Bones couldn't be bothered with, but in the end, the other squints always looked first to Bones for direction and inspiration. Camille was talented, and her skills were an important addition, but Bones still led the way on all the cases.

Enough thinking, he thought. Now, to plow through his own crap, and find a way to make sure nothing new piled up too high while he was out.

--

She didn't sleepwalk, exactly, through her lunch with Angela-- she heard and responded appropriately to their conversation, recalled what was said, and did what she could to make tactful inquiries about Hodgins, but part of her mind was spinning away on the wheel of wondering why and how her feelings had evolved as they had, and what it meant for the future, while another part circled around on itself about how she could have helped Zack. She must have done a pretty good job responding, because Angela didn't chide her once for being distracted, and gave her a long hug and a teary-eyed "Thanks for listening, Bren," as they parted. She made it through the market, picking up enough food for a few days without paying much attention. When she got home and started unloading the groceries, she realized she'd bought fixings for the macaroni and cheese she'd made Booth sometime ago, and that somehow milk, bacon, eggs, and two natural rib-eye steaks had made it into her cart along with her usual favorite vegetables and salad things. Her subconscious had her shopping as if he was going to be spending breakfast and dinner at her apartment-- a crazy delusion on her part.

Not that they'd had any time to talk, this morning, and he would be busy with paperwork the rest of the day, she was sure-- although thank goodness he didn't seem to have been fazed by what she now felt was inappropriate forwardness on her part. Booth was a caring friend, and partner. She couldn't let her new and hard-found realization of her feelings for him affect their working relationship-- even though as soon as he'd left, the apartment felt empty again, and it felt empty now as she put things away. She wouldn't bother him, she thought, as she went back to the sofa to fold up the throw he'd pulled over them in the night. As she folded it, she caught a whiff of his scent and his cologne, and smiled, unwittingly. Coming around to sit, she pulled it up to her nose again, glad of his spicy warm scent. She had missed him. And she'd slept well. Maybe she'd get a bit of a nap in-- at least it would stop her from thinking.

--

Her cell phone rang, then went over to voice mail, when he called her mid-afternoon. He'd gone back to his place, and found himself wandering aimlessly through the hous with no idea what to do with himself, just trying to think of a way to impose himself on her, to make sure that she wasn't alone, and moping, or dwelling, or worst of all, compartmentalizing. After her freakout last night, he was sure she would do whatever she could to shut it all down again-- which would be bad, since she'd only freak out worse, the next time. He tried her house phone, then, and on the third ring she answered. "Hello?" she said, sleepily.

"Oh, Bones, sorry, I woke you?"

"No, it's alright," she said. "I fell asleep on the couch, I guess." Her voice was low and husky, like it had been this morning, or like it got when she was holding back tears on something. He hoped it was sleeping, not tears.

"How you doing?"

"Fine, I guess." She sounded groggy, still. "What are you doing at home?"

"The Director made it known indirectly that he didn't expect me in the office the rest of the week, and that he wasn't going to send the lab anything he could help about, either. I figured I'd better get going while the going was good."

"Oh," she said, sounding confused. She was clattering something in the background, then said, "Oh, I've got a message from Cam, it looks like, on my phone."

"Yeah, I talked to her, she said she was planning on being work-optional, herself, the rest of the week."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and an inhalation. "Oh. Then I'm sure Jack and Angela will probably stay out the rest of the week, too." She sounded disappointed, and... lost. No surprise, he supposed. Bones always buried herself in work when she was worried about something, and even when she was home, she seemed to usually have something work related to do. Had she really planned on going back into work tomorrow? That wouldn't solve anything.

"Did you go out at all today?"

"Oh, yes. I had lunch with Angela and picked up some groceries." She trailed off, remembering how empty, again, her apartment had seemed after he left, although the sight of his loudly-printed boxer shorts in with her things as she took them out of the dryer had brought a smile to her face. "I did manage to remember to put your things by the door so that I wouldn't neglect to give them to you... the next time I see you," she continued, sounding hesitant. Taking a breath, she decided. "I... uh, somehow ended up with two steaks in my basket at the grocery store, and didn't really notice until I got home. It seems silly to take them back. If you'd like, you can have them."

He frowned even as he smiled at the offer. Bones must be feeling really distracted if she bought red meat-- she usually lectured him about the evils of the meat industry and the rainforest being decimated for hormone-laded cholesterol-filled beef. "Thanks, Bones. You know me and my love of red meat," he replied, trying to tamp down his worry. It didn't work. "Maybe I could swing by later?"

"Sure," she replied. "Whenever. I wasn't planning on going out."

"Okay, then," he said, "I'll see you later."

"Okay, goodbye," she said, sounding absent as she hung up. Absent was bad. And he'd said later. He couldn't go rushing over there right now. An hour was enough time to be later, right? How about a half hour?

--

She hung up her phone with a shaking hand. No work for the lab for the rest of the week? She didn't know what she'd do with herself. She'd tried burying herself in Limbo cases while Booth was dead, and even with her friends around her, the welcome distraction that work provided was hollow, meaningless. She couldn't go in to work herself, stick herself in Limbo all alone with only her own thoughts to distract her-- because distract her they would, without the sounds of others working to focus a part of her mind upon. That split focus was what enabled her to work-- if she had something external to ignore, then she could find solace in intellectual analysis. But if the lab was going to be as silent as a tomb, then she wouldn't be able to prevent herself from dwelling all over again on Zach and her betrayal of him, and on Booth, and the way her carelessness had made in necessary for him to kill again. And then, of course, the inconvenient _"I think I'm in love with my partner" _thing. Because that would definitely make things ever so much simpler.

She sat, clumsily, on the edge of her sofa, exhausted and overwhelmed by the thought of a week spent alone, without work to distract her or Booth hauling her out on a case. She'd finished her last book project before her father's trial, and while she had an outline for her next novel, she hadn't had any inspiration to actually start it. She certainly wasn't going to find it right now. What was she supposed to do with herself? She had few papers from her classes to grade-- she was teaching a practical skills seminar, and had already taught this week's class as well as put together the materials and notes for the classes for the rest of the semester, so really, she had nothing to do to prepare next week's class. She felt her chest starting to heave with hyperventilated breaths again, and unconsciously pulled the throw she'd slept under to her nose, breathing in Booth's scent along with her own. It calmed her, instantly, and if she hadn't needed the comfort so much to calm her panic at the idea of not having work to do, she thought to herself sarcastically that she'd probably manage to panic at how comforted she was just to smell something that was near him. But she needed the comfort more than even her gun-shy heart wanted to work on suppressing her unpartnerly thoughts, so she curled on her side, holding the throw to her nose, closing her eyes and focusing on just breathing regularly.

--

He buzzed her front bell and got no answer, so he let himself in with the key she'd given him a while ago-- after the third time he'd done it, she'd stopped yelling at him, so he figured she wouldn't mind. Her apartment was dark, so he flicked on the light by the door while he locked up, this time leaving his weapon with his jacket by the door, and noting that she had, in fact, piled his things on the entry table like she'd said on the phone. He heard a rustle from the direction of the couch, so he pulled off his shoes and padded over, looking around the edge to see her sleeping, curled up again on herself on her side, holding the throw to her in a ball. She had to be cold, he figured, and he wondered where he could find another blanket without going in to her bedroom. There was a hall closet between her room and the bathroom, but when he opened it, it was all cleaning supplies and more books-- apparently, in Bones' house, everything with a shelf served as backup bookshelf space. No such luck. He wandered back to the living room-- Bones, having a modern apartment, didn't even have a coat closet-- she kept all her things in the bedroom, and again, he'd be damned if he was going to go in there without an invitation. Well, his jacket would do for now, at least until she woke up, he decided, retrieving it and shaking it out over her.

He stuck his head in the fridge and nearly dropped from the surprise-- she'd actually bought real food, more than he thought he'd ever seen at one time in her fridge. She really must have been distracted-- there was no way she would eat all of that, even if she was in the mood for bacon, or steak. And they were gorgeous steaks, if a little small in the way those hippie stores she shopped at cut them. It had been a while since he'd cooked a nice steak at home. And... ooh, there were four kinds of cheese in there. Was she going to make mac and cheese? He'd have to find a way to hint that she should invite him over again. He was sure she wouldn't put up with him trying to stay here to sleep on her couch, just in case-- there were no serial killers out to get her as an excuse, and "_I want to stay because you're upset and anyway, I'm in love with you_," probably wouldn't go over well, either. Well, one day at a time. She'd invited him over to swing by tonight, and he was already here, so he could come up with an excuse to make him let her stay. Maybe he should start cooking the steaks? She'd bought boatloads of vegetables, he could make a big stir fry for her and cook the steaks, too. She wouldn't toss him out if he was already cooking dinner, right?

She gradually woke to the sound of chopping, and was confused. Confused, and warm, and surrounded by something good-smelling. She opened her eyes-- still in the couch under, oh, Booth's jacket. That must be him, making that noise. What was he doing? Making dinner? In her house? He could have just taken the steaks and left.

"Booth?" she asked, just as a conversation started, turning onto her back and loathe yet to get out from under her jacket.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he said, the noise of the chopping continuing. "You have more food than I do. I'm stealing your groceries and making us both some supper." She struggled up against the arm of the couch, and took him in, standing at her counter, working away on some of the things that she'd bought.

"Sounds good," she replied. "I'm actually a little hungry," she said, wondering at it herself.

"Who are you and what have you done with Bones?" he said, smiling at her as he kept chopping.

"No idea," she said, rubbing her head to shake off the sleep. Regretfully, she sat all the way up and put his jacket away from her, then tossed the throw after it. Standing, she walked over to him. "What are you making?"

"Something stir-fry ish," he said. "Have you got rice and soy sauce and all that stuff? I didn't want to start clanking around in your cabinets."

"I'll get them," she said, coming around behind the island and opening doors behind him, hearing the rustling and clanking and thuds of packages and containers being set down on the counter. "There's a wok in here somewhere," she said, pulling open one of the lower cabinets and making a racket as she shifted pots and pans until she found what she was looking for, then set it on the stove with a loud clang. "Sorry," she said, at the noise, then reached into the cabinet again and pulled out a saucepan. "Are you going to cook those steaks, too?"

"I thought I might," he said, as he scraped the things he had on the cutting board into one of the bowls he'd pulled out of the cabinet where she kept her regular dishes. She dug through her cabinets some more until she found a plain frying pan, then set it out with the rest of the things. He was probably only staying in order to make sure she ate dinner, but she'd take it. Standing, she brushed her hands off and surveyed things.

"I'll start some rice," she said, then set to. Busy hands slowed a busy mind, and her mind needed slowing.

--

He was surprised, though he shouldn't be, at the way they managed to stay out of the other's way as they both worked in the kitchen. They didn't bump into each other, and when he was looking for something, half the time she'd already anticipated what he was looking for and handed it to him. They complemented each other. He snorted at the memory of her over-precise correction and explanation of the word to him. "Ple, not pli," she'd said, prissy even when she was defending him to Sweets. It was comfortable, mucking around in her house with her, and he racked his brain some more trying to come up with a way to make her let him stay the night again. Maybe he could get her to watch a movie? And then maybe she might fall asleep on his shoulder again? That would be nice, and distract her from whatever she might be thinking. And then he might get another night's decent sleep.

They made small talk as each finished putting the parts of the meal they'd taken responsibility for together. "You do your steaks," she said, at one point. "I'll over-cook them, it's been ages since I cooked beef," she continued, then turned the heat on under the wok and pulled over the bowls of vegetables he'd chopped. She was impressed, he'd kept the ingredients that cooked at different rates separate, so they could go in at the right times. She didn't know until now if Booth could actually cook, beyond the basics, though she assumed he knew enough to keep Parker fed on the nights that he had him. They usually did paperwork at her apartment-- she had the dining room table and more room to spread out, and she had the feeling he preferred to keep his apartment mostly private. No wonder, since the first time she'd gone there, unannounced, she'd interrupted him and his girlfriend at the time. She'd made sure not to repeat the mistake, and had always called first, thereafter.

She lifted the lid on the rice and saw it was cooked, then shut the heat off as she waited for the oil in the wok to heat. He was standing next to her, sprinkling what? salt and pepper? onto the raw meat, and waiting for the frying pan she'd gotten out to heat. When the oil in the wok started to bubble, she tossed in the ginger and garlic until they were golden, then pulled them out and set them aside as she added the harder vegetables. He'd set the meat in the pan on blazing high heat after putting some oil and butter in, and the smell and smoke of the meat searing quickly filled the kitchen. She normally disliked the smell of meat cooking, but tonight, it didn't seem to bother her, she reflected, still stirring and absently adding the rest of the ingredients as she went. When she'd added the last, she turned to him and asked, "Spicy okay with you?"

"The hotter the better," he smiled, then handed her the hot sauce and soy sauce she'd left out on the other side of the stove. He stuck his finger into one of the steaks, testing it, she supposed. Not very hygenic, but as he turned them over with a fork, she realized the heat would kill any germs on his fingers. Satisfied, he turned down the heat and stepped behind her to wash his hands at the sink. She added the rest of the spices and added the aromatics back in, giving it all a final stir as she added the cornstarch slurry she'd made earlier to thicken the sauce.

"I can't be bothered with the cornstarch," he said. "Who cares if it's drippy?"

She laughed. "Well, considering the way you lick your plate when you're done with it, the fact that the sauce might not adhere to the vegetables is irrelevant."

He affected a hurt look. "I don't do it in restaurants. And it's a sin to waste food." As he hoped for, she laughed at his hurt puppy look, and smiled, saying "My mistake then, sorry."

He stepped back behind her and went back to the steaks, testing them again with his finger. Perfect, medium rare. He reached up over her and pulled out some plates, as she ducked slightly to stay out of his way. It was kind of like they were dancing, he thought, as he plunked them down in the middle of the stove, and placed his two steaks on one of the plates. There was a utensil canister next to his side of the stove, so he pulled out a spoon and grabbed the rice pot, spooning some onto his own plate, then saying, "Say when" as he started to put some on hers.

"When," she replied, after only the second scoop, but he could nag her to have more later. When he moved out of her way, she tipped the wok up and scooped some vegetables onto both mounds of rice, then set it back on the stove.

"Beer?" he asked, his head already in the fridge.

"Sure," she said, moving off with the plates to the table, then coming back for napkins and forks. They ate like they always did, companionably. At least over food there were few awkward silences, no need to feel like it was necessary to fill silence with words. They talked occasionally, he offering the account of his jockeys' complaints at the work he'd handed out and his defense of Charlie, and she telling him about her lunch with Angela as he finished the food on his plate. He debated whether it would make her laugh, or say "eew," if he licked his plate after her comment in the kitchen. Before he could decide, though, she spoke.

"I'm worried about Hodgins," she said, softly. "This is going to be hard for him. Zach's his best friend." A shadow passed over her face at some further thought she had, before she returned her attention to her food, and took another bite, thoughtfully.

"It'll be hard for everyone," he said, trying to think of a way to get her to talk more. "Jack probably thinks he's responsible, somehow." Her face twisted. He and Jack weren't the only ones who felt responsible, then.

As if she'd read his mind, she said, "He's not the only one."

"Well, Bones, it's true. There was probably something each one of us could do, to pay better attention after he came back, but Zach's still a grownup, and in the end, he made his own decision." He mostly thought that was true, though he still felt that out of anyone, he should have been able to catch that something was wrong. Bones had had enough on her plate with her dad and all that stuff, so she shouldn't be blaming herself for poor Zach. She never gave herself a break-- she always felt like she had to fix everything. But sometimes, things just happened, and as much as it would be nice to be able to control them, there wasn't any way to make sure.

"No. I was his mentor, he was my responsibility, and I let him down." She was staring off into space, looking like she had last night all over again, before he'd showed her the letter.

"Bones," he said, "look at me." She blinked and turned, her expression deeply sad as she met his eyes, her fork discarded by the side of her plate, half her food still uneaten. "It's not your fault, more than it's anyone's. Hodgins was his best friend, he should have noticed. Cam was his boss. She should have noticed. Angela was the one always twitting him about his social life. She should have noticed. Hell, I should have noticed more than anyone else, at least I have some idea what he went through. But I didn't. We _all_ should have noticed, but that doesn't change the fact that it all still starts and ends with Zach. _He should have said something_, Bones."

She shook her head. "But I understood him best-- yes, everyone else is his friend, too, but I know how his mind works. Or I thought I did. I don't know how he could have possibly rationalized killing someone. It doesn't make sense. It just..." She trailed off again, shaking her head. "I should have noticed," she repeated, then stood up from the table and walked away, wrapping her arms around herself as she paced over to the living room window and stared out.

He stood and walked over to her, standing sideways and swallowing at the glittering unshed tears in her eyes as he tried to decide how to make her listen. Well, she'd used logic on Zach. Maybe he could use logic on her. He mentally crossed his fingers. "Look, Bones, listen to me. You didn't control every aspect of Zach's day, did you?" She shook her head, swallowing. "He had a life outside work, and you tried to respect Zach's privacy, right?" She nodded. "And you knew, we all knew, that he was quieter when he came back, right?" She nodded again. "But you decided to respect his privacy, because you know that when you're not feeling happy you want to be alone to think things over, right?" She swallowed, nodding again, and turning her profile further away from him, staring more intently out the window, so she wouldn't see him and that too warm, too _knowing _expression on his face. "Now, Zach came to you when he had questions about all different kinds of things in the past, didn't he?" She nodded. "Personal and professional stuff, right?"

She nodded again, remembering the time Zach asked her bluntly whether she thought that Naomi from Paleontology displayed sufficient physical signs of attraction to justify his pursuing his interest in taking her out on a date. He had never hesitated to ask her questions about work, either, and that had continued even after he returned. As if he was reading her mind, Booth continued. "And he kept asking you professional stuff even after he came back, right?" She nodded, thinking back to the discussion they'd had while Booth was dead that had taken up an hour as he sought her critique of a paper he'd written. They'd sat on her sofa together, as she read through the article and offered questions and comments. It had been one of the few conversations during which she'd been able to effectively distract herself, and forget the feel of Booth's blood on her hands. "So wasn't it reasonable for you to assume that if he had a problem then he would have come to you with it?"

She shook her head violently, the motion dislodging a tear or three from her eyes. "I don't know why he didn't. He should have."

Thank goodness, he thought to himself. She was listening. Daring to put his hand on her upper arm, he squeezed, and said, "He didn't because he got hurt somewhere along the way before he came back, Bones, and because he was good at hiding it until it was too late. There's nothing you could have done to have figured that out-- not unless he wanted you to. And he didn't. Because, Bones, deep down, I'm sure he felt in his heart that what he was doing was wrong, and it... confused him. He couldn't figure out how to frame what he was thinking in words... so he didn't. You're not a mind reader, are you?"

She shook her head, but her words belied the motion. "I should have known. If I'd seen it earlier..." The tears were overflowing her eyes now, and he couldn't stand seeing her cry, so he pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around the back of her shoulders and pressing her head into his chest.

"If nothing, Bones. You can't control everything-- weren't you and Hodgins babbling three days ago about chaos theory or something?" She sniffled into his chest. Trust Booth to remember the most random pieces of scientific discussions and bring them to bear. She knew he was smarter than he let on-- if he failed to absorb some technical term, it was because he just wasn't interested. "So," he continued, his voice soft, "you're not going to tell me that people are any less complex than the universe, are you? What was it Hodgins said? Innumerable deterministic factors. too many to count, much less control?" She sniffled and nodded again, one part of her mind amused and annoyed all at once at the way he was throwing logic back at her. He was supposed to be the heart, not the brains. If he started being the brains, too, what would he need her for?

"So, stop beating yourself up too much, alright? It's okay to feel bad, to feel guilty, but really, Temperance, even if you had noticed something ahead of time, who's to say whether it would have made a difference? You just can't possibly know."

"I could have tried, though," she mumbled into his chest. The warmth of his body was seeping in to her and making her relax despite herself, despite the guilt she felt she deserved to suffer. She didn't want to relax. If she relaxed, she'd cry.

"And what would have changed, Bones? If you'd figured it out earlier, would you have been able to convince him to tell us who Gormogon was? You don't know, Bones. I don't either. I wish I did, but it won't change anything." He snugged her closer to him, willing himself to pay attention to how she was feeling, and not how much he was enjoying her warm curves pressed up against him. Not the time, Seeley, he thought. Really not the time. She sniffled again, and he gave her a squeeze, ignoring the fact that the front of his shirt was starting to get damp.

"You might not have had to kill him," she mumbled, cursing herself as it came out, unwilled. Damnit. She hadn't wanted to remind him, and now she had, a hot flush of embarrassment flooding her, and pricking her eyes with more tears at her lack of self-control.

His heart thumped painfully at her words. She was worried about _him_ having to kill someone? Jesus Christ. It was part of his job, something he accepted, despite the regret. He didn't like killing anyone, and yes, it slowed down working off his kill list, but it was still better to rid the world of a murderer, one way or the other. "Temperance," he began, using her first name to make sure he had her attention, "I was going to kill him no matter what." Admitting it out loud hurt, but letting her think she was somehow to blame was worse. She pulled back, looking at him seriously, but not frightened. For whatever reason, and he thanked all the saints and angels for it, she was never afraid of him. Never had been-- she hadn't let him bully her, ever. If she let him do something, that was the only reason-- because she let him.

Looking down at her, and not letting go of her for an instant, he said, "You don't let a rabid dog loose inside a new pack of dogs, so it can bite and infect the rest. You kill it-- you can't cure it. It would be crazy to even try." She nodded, slowly, accepting what he said, and he heaved a sigh of relief, inwardly. He'd promised he would kill the bastard, but not for the perfectly logical reason he'd given her, a reason any reasonable, sane, socially responsible person would accept. No-- he'd promised himself he'd kill Gormogon because of those five seconds when she was still unconscious in that taxicab, and because of the blood running from the cut on her forehead, and those fucking teeth in her arm. He'd already made up his mind before he left her to chase after him-- the fact that the psycho had used that child as distraction, knowing that Booth couldn't let him take another life if he could do something, right then, to stop it, was only icing on the cake. But she didn't need to know that, even as a part of him felt she'd probably accept that, too. How could she be so innocent, and yet accepting of the things she knew he was capable of? Of course, she wasn't that innocent-- she'd killed people, too, but it wasn't premeditated, it wasn't the same.

"I... can accept that," she said, slowly. "But I still think I should have known better."

"Well, you're not the only one, Bones," he said, allowing one hand to come up to brush a stray leaking tear from the side of her face. "Just don't go convincing yourself that you're the sole cause and reason why everything happened." She sighed, deeply, in what he hoped was a sigh of relief, and rested her head back against his chest, her eyes closed. He allowed himself the unpartnerly gesture of shifting, so he could tuck her head under his chin. Closing his own eyes, he let himself just soak her in. He'd told her once that he'd let her give him a 'guy hug' when he was scared, but the simple fact was that everytime she was upset about something, he himself became terrified at the thought of anything hurting her. Every time she let him hug her, he was already comforting himself.

--

The damned phone rang again, forcing her to look up and let go of him from where she'd wrapped her strong yet soft arms around him. Would she be angry at him if he shot her phone and his for interrupting them for the third time in two days? She glanced down at her watch, then smiled apologetically before going over to answer the phone.

"Hello?" She listened, then responded. "Oh, I'm sorry. I did get your message, Cam, but I... was distracted and forgot to make sure you knew I'd gotten it. Sorry." She listened some more, a flash of something over her face as he watched her, then spoke again. "No... I think you're right. I had lunch with Angela today, and I gather he's very upset." There was another pause, and then she continued. "I appreciate that. And... you too." She listened some more, then said, "No, he mentioned that when I spoke with him. I'll keep my phone with me." There was a final pause, and then she said, "Goodnight," and hung up the phone.

Turning back to look at him, she ducked her head, embarrassed again that she'd lost control of herself and forced him to shoulder her emotional burdens. "Cam, just making sure I knew..." she explained, heading over to the table and gathering their dishes.

"Uh huh," he agreed, noncommittally, joining her to gather up the beer bottles. He hadn't missed that flash of something on her face before she started to clean up. "Bones, at least finish your beer," he chided, waving the half-empty bottle at her. She snorted, and made a face. "It's warm, and that was the last one," she said, as she scraped the rest of her food into the trash and loaded the plates into the dishwasher.

"Well, it's only nine. We could go get more," he replied. "I could sure use another beer or two." Good, he thought. Maybe she'd let him stay if she thought she was doing him a favor if he drank a few more beers than he might otherwise.

"Alright," she said, softly. "The store around the corner's still open." She pulled out some containers and dumped the rest of the rice and the vegetables into them as he ducked behind her with the frying pan he'd used and stuck it in the sink, running some hot water into it to loosen the caramelized meat juices.

"Well, you'd better come with me and help pick something out," he said. "You always complain about my choices." She snorted, but said nothing as she put the other pans in the sink and ran water into them to soak as well. "I'll go get my shoes," she said, heading back to her bedroom.

She let him sling his arm around her shoulder when they got outside and headed down the street to the package store. It was actually a decent store, with a really big variety of stuff-- her neighborhood was pretty swank, which explained why she was always buying one of the weird foreign beers they carried. The night was pretty quiet, but toward the end of the block, it started to get a little louder where the residence buildings gave way to businesses. "You ever go in that bar there?" he asked, pointing with the arm not around her shoulder.

She looked over, and shook her head. "No, although I've walked past it enough. I'm not much for drinking alone at a bar. I've heard they have quite a good house blues band, though."

He snorted. She wasn't much for drinking at all, much less alone at a bar. "Well, you're not alone now, and I really am shocked at your lack of investigative interest in your surroundings, Temperance. Really, you ought to check it out, just so that you have a better sense of your environment." She gave him a light shove, but didn't resist when he steered them up the walk, rather than past it to the package store. "Besides, Bones, blues is an important cultural phenomenon. You owe it to anthropological posterity to explore it further." She snorted then, and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling in amusement. "You just want me to buy you a drink," she teased.

"Maybe I do," he responded with a smile, somewhat surprised that she would say something flirtatious. She was probably oblivious-- she always was, when it came to sexual references. "Come on, Bones. Let's spend some of your big bucks on a well-deserved beer buzz."

--

The bar did have a great house blues band, but they played some more rock tunes, too, and the two of them were soon tapping the top of the table they'd taken, keeping track of the beat as they worked on another round of beers.

"How many does that make?" she asked him, as the waitress came back over and cleared some more empty bottles and replaced them with full ones.

"I don't know, the fifth or sixth round?" he said. He'd lost count, although it would take more than six or seven beers to do more than give him a bit of a buzz.

She frowned a little, the line between her eyebrows deepening as she thought. "I'm sick of beer," she decided aloud, but picked up her bottle and took a drink. It was wasteful to leave it undrunk.

"Well, what do you suggest instead, Dr. Brennan?" His eyes twinkled at her, as they often did when he was pretending to be formal, instead of calling her his usual "Bones."

"Why don't you tell me, Agent Booth? What would you drink if your protege killed someone?" Oof, he thought. She'd gotten more than buzzed if she was saying that out loud, although she certainly wasn't acting that way, otherwise. She hadn't finished her dinner, though. Well, maybe a little liquid oblivion would be good for them both.

"I know just the thing," he said. "Be right back."

She watched as he rose and paced over to the bar, admiring as ever the way he moved. She often called him an alpha-male, a term that applied to social animals like wolves and primates, but really, he moved like a hunting cat, stealthy and graceful. She'd always admired his physique, though she'd pretended to herself that it was merely biological and aesthetic, rather than because of a more... emotional appreciation. Well, so much for that. She finally got what Angela was saying about denial.

"Bones," he said, returning to the table with a full bottle and two shot glasses, "I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Beam." He pushed the bottle at her with a wry grin on his face as he sat down and placed the glasses on the table. "Jim here has kept me company several times, and while he's a little rough around the edges the first time you meet him, he's really a pretty smooth fellow when he knocks you on your ass in the end."

She smiled, uncapping the bottle and pouring it into the classes. "Well," she said, raising her glass as he did the same, "it's nice to meat you, Mr. Beam." They clinked glasses, and she downed her shot, grimacing as the liquid burned its way down. When it hit her stomach though, a smooth warmness did begin to spread. "Gah," she said, pouring herself another shot. "I hope he makes a better second impression." He laughed out loud at the look on her face, and poured himself his own second shot, watching her with amusement as she downed her second like a pro, knocking it back in one go, then took his own shot. Yep, Jim Beam was a satisfying, if temporary, way to forget.

"Much better," she said, setting her glass down and looking at him. "He improves once you get to know him. Much like you," she said, with a smirk.

"Hey!" he exclaimed.

"Face it Booth, you were so obnoxious that first case." She stuck her tongue out at him, and he resisted the urge to grab her and make her put that tongue to good use, rather than just teasing him with it.

"Well, so were you, Bones. Good thing you grew on me. Kind of like one of Hodgins' funguses." She smacked him, not too hard, and poured them both another shot, this time sipping at it rather than downing it all in one go.

"Fungi," she corrected, waiting just until he'd taken his first sip to say it. It worked. He snorted whiskey all over the table, choking and laughing all at once.

"Bones," he choked. "It's a sin to waste whiskey." She just laughed at him, then got up and walked over to the bar. He watched her appreciatively, admiring as always the hypnotic way her hips swayed, the long, confident strides she always took, the way her hair swayed in time with her movements. She was strong and confident and feminine and almost demure all at once-- a literal walking contradiction. When she turned to walk back, she had that sly smirk at the edge of her mouth that she got when someone got one of her jokes. She was carrying some napkins and a bar mop, and handed him the napkins with a smirk as she bent over the table with the clean rag and started swiping at the whiskey he'd snorted. Good lord, he thought to himself, as she bent forward and across the table to get the rest of the spray-- the way her full breasts shifted under the sweater she was wearing. He'd better slow down-- he was horny enough around Bones as it was when he was sober. Drinking would not help, at all.

"Slob," she said, smiling at him and turning to walk away again to return the bar mop and the napkins he'd set down after wiping his face off. Damnit. Stop ogling, Seeley.

--

Halfway into the whiskey, the band shifted from the slower stuff they'd been playing, and started playing some more of the classic rock and faster blues stuff Booth preferred. The bar had filled up since they'd come in, though it hadn't registered too much with either of them, as they sat and drank and talked about things that didn't matter, like bad college parties they'd gone to, or the worst concerts they'd ever attended. Gradually, people began to get up and dance, and he was wondering if he could gather the nerve to ask her if she wanted to when the music changed and her eyebrow shot up. They could both blame it on the booze, later.

"Remember this one?" she asked, and he thanked whatever saint was in charge of good timing.

"Sure do," he said, standing up and extending a hand to her. "And you owe me the rest of that dance, as I recall I had to cut in on every single guy in Aurora the last time."

She threw her head back and laughed, but stood and took his hand, following him onto the floor. The song segued into others, and it was five or six songs later before the band stopped for a break, and he reluctantly let go of her. They'd been playing lots of mid and faster paced things, plenty of chances to twirl and dip her and feel her under his hands, letting him lead her. The whiskey in his system was whispering all sorts of encouragement about how it might not just be on the dance floor that she'd respond so well to him. The usual voice he used to tell himself to just stop it was barely audible as they sat back down at the table, between his buzz and the music and conversation in the bar and her own laughter as he told her another story about a fight he and Sully had gotten into in a bar full of rednecks the one time they'd worked a case together. That Sully'd ended up having to be rescued by Booth from an amorous pit bull later that night only made the story better, since she laughed hysterically as he described the look on Sully's face.

She poured them two more shots while the band was on break, hoping to God that he'd still want to dance when they came back on. She was easier, physically, with him than any man she'd ever been involved with romantically, laughed harder, had more fun, felt more everything than with anyone else. He'd been laughing and teasing her as they danced, his eyes sparkling, and she'd relished the feel of his body against hers when she came in from a spin, or he lowered her for a dip. The part of her that didn't just want to appreciate him aesthetically wanted to get back on the floor with him, to give her the chance to feel his hands on her hips and at the back of her neck again.

She regaled him with a story from one of the first times she'd let Angela take her out to a club, exaggerating her own misunderstanding of the different social norms in an effort to make him laugh-- when he did, she felt as proud of herself as if she'd solved some particularly hard case. Damnit. She needed to slow down before she said something inappropriate. It would be hard enough to explain her behavior as it was, though she supposed she could blame it on the alcohol later. It was funny-- alcohol loosened her tongue, making her say things she otherwise wouldn't, but it didn't otherwise much affect her thinking or coordination. She rarely suffered hangovers, either, something that had earned her Angela's enmity the first time she'd slept at Brennan's place after a night spent at a club. She'd been horrified when Brennan rose at eight the next morning, though it was a weekend. She poured them a third shot and they clinked glasses, each taking a sip, as the band re-took the stage, and tuned up again.

Each worked on their drink, wondering what excuse they could come up with to resume their earlier dancing, when the saint of good timing struck again.

"Come on, Bones," he said, springing up and grabbing her arm, dragging her bodily onto the floor as she laughed, "I don't see any refrigerators, anywhere, and you definitely, _definitely_, owe me a dance to this one."

She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, the other sliding down his arm as he dipped her during the first chorus, enjoying the feel of his hot skin and firm muscles under the fabric of his sleeve, and the slight sheen of sweat at the edge of his hairline, where her hand gripped him. Though it wasn't really a song meant for two people to dance to, together, somehow they made it work well, and he felt his pants tightening as she managed a high kick while he dipped her at the end of the song. Damnit, the things she could probably do with those legs, he thought, even as he heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief out loud, and said, "See, no explosions. Well, that's one phobia eliminated, I can listen to Foreigner again."

She threw her head back and laughed, exposing the front and sides of her throat as her hair cascaded down her back, making no move to let go of him as the band started another song. The band played another hour, and they danced to every single song, oblivious as other couples and groups of friends made their way on and off the floor. The only thing he was conscious of, besides the music and the way they moved together, was the fact that he'd burned off whatever effect the alcohol might have had, and that he was merely completely relaxed and aroused, rather than intoxicated. Well, he was intoxicated, but it was with her, not alcohol.

She saw the clock over the bar as he twirled her away from him again, his hand firm around hers, and she saw that it was nearly closing time. A pang shot through her as she realized that they would have to stop dancing, that she wouldn't have an excuse of keeping time and keeping track of their steps to look back into his eyes, and that he'd probably go home after walking her back to her apartment. He seemed sober, and certainly, she was no more intoxicated than as if she'd had a beer or two; her fast metabolism worked on everything, one reason she saw few occasions worth drinking to get drunk. She had to drink a significant amount to truly become drink, and she simply hadn't, tonight.

When she twirled back in, he caught her, the arm curling her back into him still at her shoulders as he caught her free hand and pulled it up, tight against his side as the music changed and the singer thanked the crowd, announcing that this was the last song. Something flashed deep in his eyes as the guitarist began to play, and he chuffed a small laugh at some inner thought. "Something funny?" she asked.

"Not really. Just... ironic," he said, his arms still holding her to him as the tempo shifted and they both sped their steps in time with the song, and he mouthed the words to the last line of the first stanza to himself. It really was the perfect way to end the night, he supposed. "_And I'm half crazy, come on and love me baby_," he said, not realizing he'd said it aloud as he reflected on the fact that Gregg Allman sure understood what it was to want a woman.

She was listening to the lyrics, wondering what it was that had struck him and caused his eyes to darken as he looked over her head, even as he'd pulled her tighter. As she listened, she knew, and understood. The French called it '_coup de foudre_,' meaning '_l__ove at first sight_,' but the literal meaning of the phrase, '_bolt of lightning_,' was more appropriate. He wanted her. Too. Her heart squeezed, painfully, even as a more intimate bolt shot through her at the thought. For how long? Did it even matter? She'd seen that look in his eyes before, but been utterly clueless up until now. It had been there last night, even, when she looked back up at him after hanging up from her phone call with Angela.

Her mouth was dry, suddenly, and her usual directness escaped her. She blessed herself for her quick memory for song lyrics, though this was the first time she'd heard this particular song. She wasn't likely to forget it, now, she thought, as she let go of his hand to pull his face down to look at her, and sang him the last repeat of the chorus along with the band. "_No, I'm no angel, no I'm no stranger to the dark/ Let me rock your cradle, let me start a fire in your heart/ Oh come on baby, come and let me show you my tattoo / Let me drive you crazy, come on and love me baby_." She didn't have a tattoo, but she figured the sentiment was clear enough.

It was. He was shocked when she'd let go of his hand, and moreso when her hand came up to the side of his face and back of his neck, dragging him around to look down of her, but the look on her face was as plain as day as she sang the invitation? plea? desperate hungry prayer? back at him.

"Let's go," he said, shifting to pull her under his arm and off the dance floor before the band even finished playing the last notes. It was a very quick stop back at the table and the bar to grab her purse, clear out their tab and throw down a tip, her own hand holding the hand draped over her shoulder in place, as if she was afraid he would let go. As if he ever would. He'd make sure she knew it.


	4. Day Three

Day Three

The clock read one-thirty in the morning when the door to her apartment banged open, then slammed shut again, as the two bodies slammed back against it. He tore his mouth from hers long enough to look at the door, focus, and lock the various locks, bolts and chains, before she dragged his head back down to hers, her mouth seeking his hungrily. He backed away from the door, removing his hands long enough from where he'd been grasping her hips, pulling his own jacket off as she broke off long enough to cast aside her bag and shrug her own jacket off. Grabbing his wrist with her hand, she pulled him away from the door, and he followed, then decided she wasn't going fast enough.

He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, and pushed past the door that had always before been closed to him. It bounced off something solid at the force of his push, and she laughed. "I didn't like that wall, anyway," she said, as he tossed her into the middle of the bed, and eyed her hungrily. She knelt up on the bed, shifting to push the covers down and exposing her sheets and pillows, then watched him as he tugged his shoes off and tossed them to the far end of the room. She pulled off her own, her eyes locked with his, as he peeled off his shirt, exposing the wide, hard expanse of his chest in the half-light coming in the window from the streetlight outside. She pulled her own sweater over her head, and smiled as he paced around to the side of the bed, removing his weapon and set it in arm's reach on the bedside table, then tossed his phone carelessly beside it. He licked his lips as she unclasped the lacy white bra she'd been wearing, and set loose the breasts he'd dreamt about way too many times to count. She was more stunning than even he'd imagined, and he'd imagined, a lot. Her skin was whiter and finer than the fabric, anyway. She crept forward on all fours, then, and knelt up when she reached him, then tugged his belt buckle open with one hand as the other splayed across his back, her hot lips sealing themselves to his stomach as her other hand finished pulling open his belt and undoing the fly of his pants.

He backed away, bending halfway to push off everything else keeping him from her as he pushed her backwards onto the bed, kicking free of his pants, shorts and socks in almost one continuous motion. She, meanwhile, had pushed her hips up from the bed, and had undone the button and zipper on her jeans sliding them down past her hips, until she let herself down again and reached up to finish removing them. "Let me," he said, climbing up onto the bed beside her, then shifted to kneel between her legs and pull the jeans the rest of the way off. He tossed them aside, thinking that her floor would look like a hurricane had hit it in the morning, then pulled her socks off as she shifted her hips up again to slide her matching white lacy panties off. "Jesus, Temperance," he groaned, as he pulled them the rest of the way from her, and finally got to take her in from head to toe. Definitely more stunning than he'd ever imagined. When looked her in the face again, he saw the same appreciative, hungry look in her eyes that he imagined she saw in his.

Sitting up, she shifted backward, then knelt up on the bed herself, running her small and nimble fingers up his sides as she raked her eyes up and down him, taking him in. He was perfect, in every way, she thought, and she hadn't really expected anything less, though seeing it in the flesh was a thousand times better than just knowing, intellectually, what he might look like. She splayed her fingers across his chest, instinctively seeking out the scar of his most recent wounding, the shot that had started her own realizations down the road to this end. Finding it, she smoothed her fingers over him before pressing her lips to the scar, letting her tongue and lips explore the shift from thickened scar tissue to the otherwise perfect smooth flesh of him. There would be more scars, elsewhere, that she would need to learn about and try to understand, but this was the most important one-- the one he took for her.

His heart seized within him as she sought out the scar that woman's bullet had left. The scar itself was no longer tender, though it and the muscle beneath it still pulled a little, something he had to keep working at to keep it from stiffening and impeding his movement. But while the jolt of fire that went through him with the bullet was cold, her kiss over the wound was hot, her touch sending warmth all through him. "Kiss it and make it all better" wasn't something that was just a silly children's expression, not at least here, in her bedroom. He let his hands roam all over her, feeling the sleek satin of her skin under his fingers, as she trailed her tongue and mouth across his chest, making her way up his neck. Her breasts were brushing against him as she moved her mouth over his skin, her hardened nipples signalling her own arousal even as each of her kisses made him grow harder. He crushed her chest to him, letting one hand trace teasingly up her spine until he reached her neck. Tangling his hand in her hair, he pulled her head gently back to bare her throat to him, then lowered his head to suck at the long white column of skin he'd so often wanted to taste.

Her own hands came to grasp him at his back, one trailing down to grasp his behind, pulling his hips closer to her as she rubbed up against him, writhing with pleasure at the feel of his mouth and his hands on her, and the incredible heat of his skin against hers. If she didn't already trust him completely already, she'd have given over to panic at the strength of the sensations coursing through her. She'd already thought she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted any other man, even before Zach's betrayal, but she'd tamped down her desire, ignored it as a mere sexual urge. But now, faced with the reality of it actually happening, her need was so strong that her mind threw up the "_that's when two people become one_" speech he'd given her, some time ago. She'd believed him, then, but she never thought she'd feel it for herself.

As he pulled her head further back, and she complied, bending almost backward against the hand bracing her between her shoulderblades, she moved her hand between them, grasping him in her hand firmly at the same moment that his mouth sealed closed on her breast. They each jerked with the shock of the intimate touch, and she gasped aloud as his tongue dug firmly into her flesh, then relented, teasing and sucking at her nipple. She let her hand pull along his shaft, the width and length of his solid erection arousing her, and making the heat between her legs grow stronger. She passed her thumb over the head of his shaft, firmly, causing him to lose his suction on her and gasp, before he regained his concentration and switched his attention to her other perfect, creamy, delectable breast.

She moaned as he bit lightly at her, and he twitched and thickened in response in her hand, drawing a cramp from her own inner walls in response. The heat pooling below was becoming a burning ache, the core of her empty and her clitoris beginning to throb in time with her rapid, irregular pulse, but she continued to stroke him with her hand, varying the pressure and tempo occasionally by letting go except for her thumb and index finger. She sped her encircling light fingers along him quickly and teasingly, until his own hips jerked into hers in unconscious response. He shifted, spreading his knees further apart, and lifting his head from her breasts with one last swirl of his tongue, to look at her. Her eyes were darker than he'd ever seen them before, almost royal blue, her pupils wide with desire, and the hand gripping his shaft left him, to come up and grasp his head, pulling him down for a kiss.

God, could she kiss, he thought. Everything before had been kid's stuff. The way her mouth molded to his, her tongue seeking, not fighting with his, just taking her turn and letting him take his as he tasted her-- perfect. Not that their first kiss, at Christmas, hadn't also been perfect in its own way, but this was completely perfect, that magical blend of demand and surrender. He shifted backward, pushing with the hand grasping her hip until she was lying on the bed, beneath him, her hair spreading below her. She was perfect, every last blessed inch of her, and she gazed back at him, unabashedly raking her eyes over him as he drank his own fill with his eyes.

She shuddered as the hand behind her neck let go, and he traced his fingers lightly down the line of her sternum, brushing against each rib teasingly, as he gazed at her, eyes black with determined need. Her own hips arced off the bed as he tickled his fingers across her navel, the nearness of his fingers to her aching center making her instincts take over. So fast that she didn't see him move, his mouth was on her core, and she arced up off the bed, screaming his given name, "Seeley!" as his tongue thrust into her, shocking her with another thrust of impossible desire. It was the first time she'd ever said it aloud to him when they were alone, and that she'd screamed it in response to something he'd done to her made him decide he'd insist that absolutely no one else but her use his first name ever again. He lapped at her, savoring her smell and her taste as he pushed her stomach down with one hand-- to make it impossible for her to back away from him before he was done drinking his fill.

She moaned, wordlessly, as his tongue delved again into her, then retreated as he sucked at her folds. He licked the length of her, flicking the tip of his tongue hard against her burning, engorged clitoris. Just that one flick of his tongue undid her, and she bucked against his hand holding her down. His other hand came up, clamping down at her hip, as he flicked her again, and she screamed wordlessly as the most painfully exquisite orgasm of her life wracked her. While she was still shuddering, he lapped at her again, then curled his tongue back inside her already cramping walls. Somehow, she couldn't think how, his tongue found that ridged place on her inside wall, and he pushed at it, even as her walls were still contracting from the first orgasm he'd drawn from her, and he pushed at her again. She wailed his name, then, calling "Oh, my God, Seeley," as she cramped again and flooded his tongue with her fluid.

Her cry of his name made him stiffen again, and he was so painfully tight from her response to him that he couldn't hold back on his need to be inside her much longer. He withdrew his tongue from her core, and licked teasingly at her folds as she shuddered under him, her eyes closed and head thrown back, her breasts arcing up as her spasms still wracked her. Forget the sunrise or sunset. _This_ was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his whole life. _She_ was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his whole life.

He positioned himself over her, and slid one arm under her to hold her to him as he bent to taste the skin at her neck once again. She moaned as his mouth found her skin again, and she wheezed out "Oh my God, Booth," as the last shudder wracked her.

"You liked that, hmm?" he chuckled, nuzzling his way from her collarbone to right behind her earlobe. "Not to ruin the moment, Bones, but have you got any..." She opened her eyes and turned to look at him, lazily, her eyes half-lidded. "No, but it's not necessary, I just got my update shot," she said, her voice a bit raspy as she licked her lips. "That's only half the equation," he said, "I have a job in this too, you know." He tried to always be responsible, but of course he hadn't expected to be right where he was tonight, and he'd tossed the last box of condoms he owned not too long ago. They'd expired, before he could use them all-- the first time that had ever happened to him. "I trust you," she said, running her hand up the side of his back, fingertips tickling at him as she looked back at him, evenly, absolute trust in her eyes. What had he done to deserve her?

She gazed up at him, willing him to believe what she said. Not that the ones she'd kept in the house in the past would have been large enough anyway, she mused, and hoped that he knew that she trusted him utterly. It had been almost a year since she'd had any ... company, and her last checkup had been clear. She assumed he was as conscientious about these things as she was, and oh, but she needed him. Just as she completed the thought, he nodded, accepting, and one hand pushed beneath her hips even as she drew her knees up and managed to wrap her limp arms around his neck. Her eyes locked with his, as he thrust himself into her, both of them groaning in shock at the completion. "Oh, God! You're perfect!" he gasped, as her heat grasped him and she took him all the way in. The fullness of him inside her made her eyes snap open, unseeing externally, but seeing completely what he'd meant about '_becoming one_.' Without any will on her part, an "oh, Seeley, please," escaped her, her eyes fluttering closed with the overwhelming sensation of all her empty spaces filling, physically and metaphorically.

He began to move, starting to lead, but she followed him, perfectly, complementing and responding him as she had in her kitchen, on the dance floor, in every firefight and chase, interrogation and analysis. She didn't just complement him. She completed him. She met him halfway, accepted him, urged him on to be better and more in their working life, and damned if he wasn't going to give her better and more, right now. He'd often wondered if all the pent-up lust would make him explode like a teenager the moment he was inside her, but now, he felt like he could go on forever-- the way she responded, completely surrendered to him, made him feel like the strongest man in the world. He was hers, and she... she was his. He could do practically anything, knowing that.

She clung to him as he shifted his hand at her hips to press her tighter to him, pulling her knees up further to cradle him deeper as he thrust. With each stroke, she felt less alone, more cared for, more... loved. Which made sense, since she... loved him too. She bucked her own hips against him, trying to meet him as the warmth and the heat of him drove out all thought but their motion, and the feel of him under her hands. Wordless whimpers and moans fell from her lips as he continued to move with her, his own breathing rasping in her ear as he occasionally groaned "Temperance," or "Bones" as she met him with particular force, the shock of their meeting forcing her name from his lips. He slid his hands under her hips, lifting her as she clung to his neck, and the change in angle brought the head of him firmly across her inner sensitive spot. She cried out his name as he stroked against it again, her walls starting to quiver around him as he repeated the motion. "Come on, baby, come for me," he growled in her ear as he pushed into her again, and she whimpered as she shifted, her legs wrapping around him, her thighs quivering against his sides. She moaned, her head falling back toward the bed, as he plunged into her again, the sight of her complete abandon breaking the last of his control.

"Oh, Jesus, Temperance," he moaned, as she quivered around and beneath him, willing himself to hold on just long enough to make her scream out his name again before he came. He lost the rhythm he'd managed to hold onto so far, and felt himself jerk into her, his body taking control and demanding release now. He jerked into her twice more before she screamed out "Booth! Oh! Seeley!" so loudly he was sure the whole building knew he was there. Her walls flooded and convulsed around him so hard that she pulled him back into her, and he exploded, calling "Temperance! Bones!" with a voice half-shattered from the force of his release.

She fell limp just as he collapsed atop her, his heavy body completely covering hers as she floated, lost in the throes of her orgasm, small aftershocks passing through her as he drained into her, each small pulse of his seed after the initial tremendous rush drawing a responding quiver from inside her. She couldn't open her eyes-- every time she tried, the lids fluttered closed. His heat and their sweat and the mingled scent of their loving surrounded her, encompassing her fully, and she welcomed his weight-- it was as if he was physically pressing every lingering doubt from her. She lay there, panting, gradually coming back to herself as a languid heat filled her.

"Holy mother of God," he wheezed, finally managing to push himself up on his elbows as the tremors passing through him began to abate. He didn't want to smother her their first time-- he sure as hell planned on doing this again, as soon as humanly possible. "No, just Temperance Brennan," she responded, half-purring, her eyes still closed. "And Seeley Booth. Though I can certainly now attest to what makes you a _Special _Agent," she murmured, dreamily, a sated smile on her face.

He twitched and half-stiffened inside her. "Jesus, Bones," he groaned, laughing at his own involuntary response to her praise. "You keep talking like that and it'll be like I'm eighteen all over again."

"Mmm," she said, eyes still closed. "And why would that be so bad?" He twitched again, but that was it-- he was spent, and he was sure she was, too, despite her teasing response. With a groan, he braced himself further, then withdrew, drawing a whimpering gasp from her in response as her eyes fluttered open, then closed again. He just managed to fall to the side of her, sitting up just enough to grasp the covers she'd shoved to the foot of the bed, and pull them up over them. As he moved to settle onto the bed, she turned and rolled to her side, coming to lie against him, her hand across his stomach and chest. He shifted, slipping an arm under her, and pulled her up a bit until her head rested over his heart, and her warm breath whiffled across his chest. Cocking his head up to look at her, he saw that her eyes were still closed, her cheeks flushed a pink he'd never seen before, and a completely sated and yet innocent smile on her face. And he'd thought his day was good when he left the house smelling like her shampoo and with a mug of hot coffee this morning.

- - - - - - - -

The sun was full in his eyes through her window before he woke, the soft weight and warmth of her still at his side, his arm still holding her to him. Blinking, he turned his head, wondering if she had an alarm clock in here. Ten-thirty? Really? Good God, he thought. Making up for lost sleep, and then some. She shifted then, mumbling in response to his slight movement, and opened her eyes, looking straight at him. She had that unwavering gaze that she got when she was ... discovering something, and he waited, wondering what she would say. "Mmm, morning, Booth," she said, her eyes fluttering closed again after assuring herself that he was still here. "Morning, Bones," he said softly, the rumble of his voice in his chest under her ear. She could get used to this. She wanted to. More than anything, she realized-- though it was a natural conclusion now that she knew that she loved him. She should tell him. And since Temperance Brennan wasn't one to back off, once a decision was made, she did.

"Seeley, I love you," she said, speaking softly but clearly into the warmth of his chest. His heart banged hard, once, under her ear, and all of a sudden she wondered if... but then he spoke, his voice a strangled whisper, "Bones, I love you too." His arm under her tightened around her, as his other hand came across to pull her face toward him for an unhurried, exploratory kiss. Blinking, she looked at him when he pulled away from her mouth, and felt the last doubt she had dissolve into the air, as he repeated himself. She nestled back against his chest, snuggling closer, her eyes closing of their own accord again.

"Mmm. Love. I know what that means," she murmured, drifting off again to his rumbled laughter and his arm holding her to him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"It's a good thing you went shopping yesterday," he said, as he came back into the bedroom with some coffee, and toast, and scrambled eggs for both of them, and some bacon for him.

"Mmm, why is that," she purred, still lying on her side where he'd left her a half hour ago, when his own grumbling stomach woke him again.

"Because," he said, setting the tray on the bedside table opposite her, "I'll be damned if I'm stepping foot out of this bed one moment longer than I have to. We've got time to make up for, woman. Now eat up, you," he said, bending over to pull the sheet from her and pausing to suck at the deep curve of her waist. "I'm a growing boy, and I may need a little help with that." She smiled, and stretched, catlike, saying only, "Well, I always want help out my partner..."

He stifled her words with a kiss, his heart near to bursting with happiness as she smiled at him, lazily, languidly, and his.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Later, they left her bed long enough to bathe, though that too turned into another exploration of the other's needs and responses, and they fell back into the bed not long after, sated and languid again. They dozed for a while, until his stomach woke him again, the afternoon light through her window dimming as he blinked awake. She laughed as he pulled away to sit up, his stomach growling.

"You're insatiable," she said, sitting up, not bothering to cover herself with the sheet.

"Come on, Bones," he responded. "How long have you known me?"

She laughed, and swung her legs over the side of the bed, relieved that the phone hadn't rung once all day. They needed an idyll, deserved one. "Come on, hungry boy," she said, walking naked out of the room toward the kitchen. "I'll microwave you some stir fry."

He followed her, staying two steps behind her as he watched her sway away as she walked. When he reached her, she'd already spooned food into two bowls, and was setting the controls.

"Bones," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist again from behind, this time his skin bare against hers, "maybe I want meat for dinner." He finished his statement with a light bite at her shoulder. "Vegetables first," she laughed, "before you can have any meat."

"You're so bossy," he grumbled, but she turned in his arms then and smiled brilliantly at him.

"I only tell the people I love to eat all their vegetables," she said.

"Bring them on, then," he replied. He couldn't believe how quickly pain had turned to joy, and he pulled her closer, breathing her in. "I love you too, baby. I love you too." His heart swelled as she pulled him closer.


	5. Day Four

Day four

The goddamned phone was ringing again. His phone. And it was in front of his weapon, so he'd have to answer it first, before he could shoot it. "Nnnnrgghh, I hate the phone," he grumbled, untangling himself from Bones' arms and legs, and reached over, growling, "Hello?"

"Seeley, where the hell are you?" came Rebecca's voice on the other end of the line.

"Not at home, obviously," he replied.

"Not at work, either, I called there too," came her sarcastic quip.

"What is it, Rebecca? Is everything okay?" He wouldn't let her bait him. He felt Bones shift away from him, and he half turned to lie behind her, slinging and arm and leg over her as she lay on her side, and cradling the phone in the crook of his neck. She snuggled back into him.

His son's mother let out an exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone. Clearly, she needed to fight with someone, and today, he was it. "Rebecca?"

"Rosie's sick with the flu and Parker has a half day and I can't leave early. Since you're not at work and didn't even bother to tell me, well, you can just pick him up and hang on to him until I'm done with work."

He sighed. She had no idea what the team had been through in the last few days. He rarely bothered to tell her the things that happened at work. She wasn't a confidante any more, and though he cared about her, their only real bond was Parker. "What time should I pick him up?"

"Twelve-thirty," she said, then paused. "Did something happen at work?" He must have sighed louder than he thought.

"Yes." He wasn't going to go into details, except to say, "The Director gave me the rest of the week off, and Camille closed the lab for a few days. My cell's the best way to reach me for now."

"You weren't wounded again, were you?" Her voice was suspicious, and she had a right to be. He'd often hid lesser injuries from her, only for her to be furious with him, after, somehow reasoning that the harm inflicted to him directly equalled danger to Parker.

"No. Not this time. I'll make sure to be there at twelve-thirty. Just... call me when you're done, alright? I might take him out for a bit, it might make more sense for me to drop him with you rather than have you come to my place."

"That's fine," she replied, mollified by his agreement. Hell, even if he'd been at work, he would have found a way to go get him, even if it meant bringing him to the lab if he and Bones had to go out. Parker thought Angela was a hoot, the few times he'd met her, and Booth knew Angela loved kids. Hell, he could have even lassoed Charlie into entertaining him at the office, if he had to. He wasn't the only one who occasionally had to drag in a sick kid, though nobody liked it with all the perps in the building. That she somehow, still, thought he'd be put out, or didn't want to spend time with his son, made him marvel all over again that he'd thought about marrying her.

"I'll talk to you later, Becs, bye," he said, then flipped his phone shut.

"Sorry, there, Bones," he murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck and her shoulder. She sighed, tipping her head back to allow him further access.

"Well, the real world won't stay quiet forever," she said. "It'll be good for you to see him, anyway."

"It will," he agreed, pausing his words to run his tongue behind the shell of her ear.

"What time do you have to pick him up?" she murmured, letting her eyes close as she trailed her fingers over the arm at her waist.

He looked at the clock and smiled in response. "Not for four hours. Do you need a ride back to the lab to go get your car?"

"No," she replied, still tracing the muscles of his forearm with her fingers. "I took the train over yesterday before I had lunch with Angela."

"Right. I just didn't see it when I parked yesterday."

"Someone keeps stealing my space," she said. "I had to park around back."

"I'll get the plate on my way out, get D.J. to leave them a ticket," he replied, then started licking the curve of her shoulderblade.

"Thanks for the offer, Booth," she laughed, her waist rising and falling beneath his arm as she did so. "But maybe I wanted to karate chop them."

"No reason we can't do both. Partners, remember?" She turned in his arms, looking at him with a smile, and his heart skipped a beat at how gorgeous she was, and how lucky he was. Seemed like his heart stopping was going to be a regular occurrence, around her. "Partners," she replied, then reached her hand to the side of his face as she pushed up to kiss him. Smiling slyly after they broke apart, she pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, sitting across his hips as she let her hands spread on his chest, tracing the defined edges of his firm chest and arm muscles.

"Good morning," he said, reaching up to brush his hands up her sides, then cupping her full, perfect breasts in his hands, their weight and softness filling his palms. He stroked his thumbs over her, his length hardening in response as her nipples instantly firmed, pebbling, her breath hitching as he continued his light teasing touches.

"Good morning," she purred, leaning forward to kiss him again, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth and sucking it gently before slipping her tongue into his mouth and tracing the line of his teeth. He continued kneading her flesh with his hands, amazed and aroused by the creeping flush of pink blooming on her cheeks and her chest when she broke off their kiss to stare down at him, hungrily. She kissed him again, lightly, then shifted, pulling away and to the side as she trailed fingers firmly over his intercostal muscles on one side, kissing the rest of them as she made her way slowly down his chest on his other side. She bit the side of his hip, sucking at the cut of muscle right over his ilia, marvelling again at his physical perfection, then let the hand tracing his ribs shift down. She gripped him lightly, pulling her hand over and back along the length of him, as a low rumble built in his chest. Smiling to herself at his response and the spicy hot smell of him filling her nose, she braced up on her elbow, then bent forward and took him into her mouth.

He gasped as her lips closed around him, sucking him lightly right away, the silk of her cheeks sliding against the length of him. Looking down, he saw her hair spilled across his stomach, her face turned away from him as she sucked him in again, her tongue sliding up and down his shaft. Her free hand reached between his legs then, cupping his sac, her small nimble fingers tickling him gently as she continued to move her mouth on him. He groaned out her first name as she continued her work, her hands and mouth magical, and he lost all sense of time or place except the feel of her sucking and tickling at him. "Oh God," he groaned, as she brought him close to the brink, and then backed him away again, her tongue doing things so inventive that she kept drawing gasps of surprise from him. Lord, she was generous, he managed to think, right before she brought him almost over the edge again, then retreated, slowing her hands and mouth on him until he no longer threatened to burst. Shifting, she let go of him, but not before cupping his sac her warm palm once again as she turned to look up at him, and then licked the length of him as he watched, dazed by the catlike grin on her face.

"Is there anything you're not fabulous at?" he husked, as she moved again and then straddled him, hovering slightly above him as his hands came to her waist.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she replied, batting her eyelashes as she smiled, secretively. Shifting under her, he let go of her waist with one hand, testing her with his other to find she was slick and ready for him.

"Jesus, Temperance," he groaned, stroking her folds with his fingers and catching her scent as it started to rise. He passed his thumb over the sensitive nub cresting her mound, and she inhaled, sharply, her head falling forward as he stroked her again, then slid two fingers inside her heat. Her breasts hung temptingly over him as he curled his fingers inside her, and giving in, he shifted further beneath her as his hand inside her continued its motions. He pulled her to him, one hand on her back pushing as he passed his thumb over her clitoris, and her knees spread over him, almost slipping as a shock ran through her at his touch. He pushed her further toward him, craning his head up until he could reach her breasts, latching onto her with firm suction. "Oh, Seeley," she groaned, as his fingers and mouth worked at her, each drawing their own incredible responses from her. Her forehead grew numb and her arms trembled as she struggled to keep herself from falling onto him, an effort that became increasingly difficult as he withdrew his fingers from her only to plunge into her again, three fingers spreading and twisting against her walls. She shrieked in response, and he bit down on her breast as he passed his thumb over her engorged nub again. Her knees buckled as she contracted around him, her wetness leaving his hand slick as she collapsed against him. He withdrew then, letting go of her breast with his mouth, and flipped her, pushing her knees up and apart as he thrust into her.

"Booth!" she called out, her eyes snapping open as he surged into her, the head of him snug against her inner walls, his width and length spreading and filling her. "Oh, God, Bones," he groaned in response, almost undone again by the unbelievable first feel of her all around him. He would never get tired of this. "Jesus, I love you so much," he said, as he braced his arms at her sides and withdrew from her, only to plunge into her again. Her hips rose to meet him, her eyes closed at the sensation of him surrounding her, and she grasped his hips to pull him harder to her as she whimpered her own affirmation of love in response. Gradually, they sped their motions together, shifting to find the best position for each, and her own orgasm drew his from him as she convulsed around him, crying his name.

Panting and spent, he collapsed on top of her as he listened to his goddamned phone start buzzing again. "I'm not getting it, yet," he groaned. She moaned once more as an aftershock coursed through her, then moaned, differently, as her own phone started buzzing. Whoever it was wanted to reach one or both of them.

"Please, no dead bodies," she whined, pushing him away as she rolled over to pick it up and look at the display. "Ugghhh," she groaned, then tossed it to the floor. "Sweets," she grumbled, looking back up at him from where he'd braced himself up as he withdrew.

"Uuugggh is right," he replied, reaching across to his own phone to look at the display. "Me too," he commented, then tossed the phone to the floor beside hers.

"I'm not calling him back," she said, rolling herself until she laid at his side, and looked up at him while resting her head on the crook of his arm and his shoulder.

"Me neither," he said. "The goddamned lab's closed and I'm off, which he'd know if he'd bothered to check. Plus, I canceled on him when I was at work the other day."

She smoothed her hand up his stomach and chest, letting it rest over his scar. She'd done that a lot, as if she needed to keep checking, he realized, and his gut clenched as he realized all over again how much she must have gone through, not knowing. He clasped her to him, letting himself play with the strands of her hair spilling over her shoulder, reveling in not thinking anything except _God she's so beautiful_, and _minemineminemine_ as he held her. Then, his phone started buzzing again.

"What in hell!" he yelled, rolling over to look at the ID. She laughed and then stifled it as he said, "Oh, shit, Charlie," and picked up the phone.

"Charlie, what is it?" He groaned.

"Booth, that twelve year old was just down here, looking for you. I thought you should know."

"Yeah, I let his call go to voice mail. Thanks for the heads up, though, I appreciate it."

"I told him you were out the rest of the week. He... uh... asked if I knew if Dr. Brennan was out, too. Said he'd tried calling her at work and on her cell and couldn't reach her." Great. Just great.

"Well, the lab's closed-- he should know that. If she doesn't want to talk to him, he can suck it."

Charlie snickered. He had no respect for Sweets whatsoever, which maybe Booth ought to try and remedy, the kid was a decent profiler, but Charlie only ever saw him nagging at Booth and distracting him from what Charlie saw as the real work, the cases. "I... ah, also moved the American Anthropological Society mug you left on your desk yesterday to your top file drawer when I was looking for something after you left." Damn.

"Yeah, Bones left it in my car a few days ago." Yeah, right. Charlie saw him walking in sucking down the rest of his coffee from that mug like it was water to a man in the desert.

"Mmm-hmm. Well, I'll let you go, just thought you should know Doctor Babyface was poking around."

"Thanks again, Charlie, really. Talk to you later."

"See you. You... uh... want me to call Dr. Brennan and let her know, too?" He was hesitant, asking, but trying to be helpful, not nosy. Booth could tell.

"No, thanks, I'll make sure she knows. See you." He flipped the phone shut again, and then flopped dramatically across the side of the bed. Her hand trailed up his spine.

"Doctor Sweets playing with your hockey puck collection again?" Her voice was amused. They'd caught him, one time, holding one of Booth's championship signed pucks in his hand, and he'd jolted like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Which he had, in a way. Booth was extremely possessive of his sports memorabilia, even as he admitted to himself that he was starting to get a bit too old to keep all that stuff in his office. Being a responsible and professional grownup sucked when it meant you had to take down your signed Bobby Orr photos.

"Something like that. I don't want to talk about him," he replied. "I'm ready to strangle him as it is."

"Mmm," she replied. "Only after I punch him, you promised."

He rolled over, and took in the amused and yet pained look on her face. "I'm serious, Bones," he said, reaching up to lay his palm across the side of her face. "He had no right to do that to you, no right to play mind games with either of us."

"It's a serious breach of ethics. We could blackmail him." she said, a pained expression still on her face.

"Ethics, shmethics," he grunted. "He was experimenting on you, trying to see how far he could push you. He didn't get, or didn't care, that he was undermining you, and therefore our partnership, playing his sick little game. In the military, they call that psychological torture."

"I know," she said, softly. "But it's over now, and we know what his game is now."

"It's not enough," he replied, pulling her down to him and grasping her tightly in his arms. "The only way to make something like that stop is to make sure they know that you know what they're doing, and make it crystal clear that not only won't it happen again, but that you're better at it than they are." His gut clenched again, remembering his own experiences, on both sides of the game, as player and played. Being on the receiving end of it was bad enough, when they tried to make you believe you'd been abandoned because you were a coward, or a failure, but it was infinitely better than being the one trying to make someone believe they were worthless, just so they'd divulge some piece of information that in the end, might turn out to be useless. That sickened him almost as much as the killing. He gritted his teeth against further memories invading him-- not now, while he was with her, he willed.

She smoothed her hand across his chest, soothing. "Shh, Seeley. Let's get up and shower and go get some breakfast, alright? Then you can go get Parker." He didn't resist as she sat up and pulled him into the bathroom, though a part of his mind had now begun spinning, calculating the best way to make the game stop even as he rejoiced in running his hands over her soap-slicked body.

--

"Where's decent for breakfast around here?" he asked, as they set off down the walk from her building an hour later, showered and shaved and dressed. She'd dug out an old men's disposable razor for him from the depths of her sink after he noticed he'd left a slight beard burn on the skin of her breasts where he'd nuzzled her during their lovemaking. The alpha-male pride he felt that he'd marked her as his was outweighed by his concern that he might ever hurt her, even with something so little-- so he'd begged the razor from her, scraping the hell out of his face until she caught him making faces in the mirror, and made him use her fancy four-bladed girly razor. She only raised an eyebrow when he admitted that it actually did a good job, squishy blue handle notwithstanding.

"No idea," she responded, smiling as he slung his arm around her shoulders as they walked. "You know I'm not much for breakfast, I usually just drink the coffee from the lounge unless you bring me something. But I think there's a coffee shop not too far from the liquor store."

They found their way there, and ate breakfast, his knee touching hers under the table as they worked on their food. No one they knew was eating there, but the checking for it made him wonder.

"Bones," he said, after finishing the rest of his bacon. "How are we going to handle the... us thing at work?"

She looked over her coffee mug at him, thinking a moment before she responded. "Well, acting like Hodgins and Angela is obviously out of the question, and general public displays of affection would be unprofessional. My only concern is that if we tried to keep it quiet, rather than being clear and straightforward before getting on with our jobs, then it could backfire someday. Some defense attorney, accusing us of tampering with evidence, or something."

He nodded. "I thought about that. Technically, there's no rule, since you don't work for the Bureau, and the conflict of interest rules only really apply where there's no outside check on the work. Not that we need it, but the rest of the team's work will insure against any accusations of bias."

"Well, then," she said, setting down her mug and looking at him, "there's no reason not to be clear about it. Though so much for your line," she said, smiling cheekily at him.

He snorted, a half-pained grin twisting his face. "Yeah, I'm an idiot. You don't need to remind me. But... let's just wait until we go back to work, okay? I... don't want to share you, yet."

She smiled back at him, acknowledging to herself that his expression of possessiveness was born not only of typical male biological urges, but from his own sense of privacy and discretion. She'd long since stopped minding his alpha-male protectiveness around her, realizing he really couldn't stop himself, and that in any event, it never detracted from his respect for her professional expertise. And if she was going to be emotionally honest with herself, as seemed to now be the rule, rather than the exception, she wasn't quite ready to share him yet, either.

"Fine," she replied, then picked up her toast and resumed eating, pushing her knee against his in nonverbal response. "What will you do with Parker this afternoon?" she asked, curious.

"I don't know," he said. "Probably go to the park, it's nice out, and he's got T-ball still. He can swing, but his catching needs work."

She smiled and snorted. "He's what, five or six? Give him time, Booth. Children his age grown unevenly, their coordination is bound to be affected."

"Do you want to join us?" he asked, as it struck him that she'd spent some, but not a lot, of time around Parker, and he just wasn't sure how she'd deal with his son's non-negotiable presence-- although he was sure she'd thought about it, along with the nine million other things she probably thought about before this latest twist.

"Maybe later," she said, reaching across to pat his hand. "You spend some time with him, maybe we can all go get some pizza or some other opprobrious junk food after you're done turning him into an Olympic-class athlete."

"Okay," he agreed. "I need to go back to my house for a bit, too."

She smirked slyly. "Why, are you getting sick of the same two sets of clothes already? There's a fix for that, you know." Her eyes said '_no clothes at all_,' clearly. Damn, but she was incredible.

"Woman, don't start," he growled.

She laughed and said, "Just as long as you don't call me baby in public."

--

He walked her back to her apartment, leaving her at the ground floor entrance before returning to his truck. He might as well leave his once-again dirtied other set of clothes there, he figured. She'd even said it would make sense if he brought a suit or two and some other things over on their walk back. He stifled the part of his brain that now, relieved from wondering when he could tell her he loved her, if ever, began spinning a new question-- _when will you ask her to move in with you? marry you_? Shut up, he told it.

He'd shown surprise on his face when she suggested he bring some more things over, but this morning's phone calls had set her mind thinking. They often worked late and yet would still be called out early. Murderers just didn't have a good sense of timing. If they were going to be partners and... lovers, then he would be here already, at least some of the time. It would be wasteful of time and resources for one or the other of them to be needing to stop first at the other's place for a fresh change of clothes. And if he had things here, maybe he wouldn't hesitate staying some nights when they didn't need to work. She wanted him near her. _Don't get clingy_, she cautioned herself.

He loved how a smile burst out onto Parker's face when he saw him standing by the truck at the edge of the schoolyard. "Daddy!" he yelled, running forward and crashing into Booth's legs.

"Whoa there, pal, you're going to take out my knee if you keep doing that," he groaned, scooping him up into his arms. "You're getting too big and strong buddy, you'll start knocking people over if you keep doing that."

"Where's Rosie?" his son asked, his face open and curious.

"She's got the flu and your mom asked me to come get you." Parker's eyes narrowed. "Do we have to go into your work? Or to Dr. Bones' work?"

Damn. The kid remembered the last few times Booth had to come get him when he was sick and haul him back to work, instead of home. Fortunately, the last time, Angela had let Parker crash on her couch while he and Bones went out to collar a suspect. "Nope. It's straight to the park with you and me, Bub, unless you haven't eaten lunch yet."

"I didn't," he said, smiling and standing off to the side as Booth opened the rear passenger door to let him in.

"Up you go, pal," he said, swatting his son lightly on the rear as he climbed up into his booster seat. "What are you in the mood for? Peanut butter and jelly? Mac and Cheese? Pizza? Hamburgers? Spinach and liver?" His last question was met with the expected "eeeewww."

They had burgers at the diner and went to the park, playing catch and then Parker playing on the slide and the swingset until late afternoon, when other kids and their families started appearing and crowding the playground. "Want to get going, bud?"

Parker nodded, then said, "I'm kind of hungry. Can we get eat soon?"

Booth nodded, laughing internally. He might be only five, but he had his Dad's appetite. "Sure thing, pal. Hey, I was wondering. What would you think about having supper with Bones tonight?"

"Yeah, I like Bones," the boy replied, holding his father's hand as they walked back to the truck.

"Do you? That's good, pal," Booth replied. He wasn't going to spring all the new stuff with Bones on Parker right away, though he'd said that he liked her before, and he knew that Booth said "_Bones is a very good friend and a work partner of mine_." He was careful who he introduced to Parker-- his own time with his son was sporadic enough between his own work schedule and Rebecca's occasional jaunts off with Parker and her boyfriend of the moment, whether or not it was Booth's weekend. Of course, though, he'd introduced Parker to Bones, she was his best friend, after all. He _thought_ Bones liked Parker, she always asked after him and paid attention to details like what he was doing in school. She was always great with the children involved in their cases, even when she wasn't always so good with the adults. Bah. He couldn't worry too much about it-- he'd just wait and see how things went.

He settled Parker into his seat, and then got back in the truck. "Hey," he said, as she picked up the house phone.

"Hey yourself," she replied, sounding like she'd just woken up.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No, I just got up a little bit ago. Catching up on some sleep, I guess," she said, her voice becoming more alert as she spoke. "Are you two done with the park?"

"We are. Parks is hungry, and wants to have dinner, if you want to join us."

"Sure," she said. "I need another shower, though, why don't you two come over here and then we can go get something. I should be mostly ready by the time you arrive."

"Sounds fine. See you soon." He hung up, stifling the urge to say "_I love you_" before he hung up. He certainly couldn't do that while they were at work or around people who didn't know them-- he'd better get used to keeping up the same partnerly relationship in public, no matter what happened in private.

"Bones said we should meet her at her place," he said, looking in the rearview mirror at his son. "So, time to decide. Pizza? Spaghetti and meatballs? Limburger cheese and raw onions?"

"Dad, eeeewwww."

- - - - - -

He let himself up the front entrance and into her apartment, Parker trailing behind him as the entered and he called out, "Hey Bones, we're here!" He heard her respond that she'd be a few minutes from the back of the apartment, so he shut the door and locked it behind him, then started showing Parker around.

"Dad, why do you have a key to Dr. Bones' apartment?"

"Um... because sometimes work partners who do the kind of stuff we do get hurt while they're working, and it helps if the other one can go to their house and bring them their things if they need to go to the hospital. So I have a key to Bones' apartment in case that happens to her." Parker knew about the hospital, God knows Booth had been there often enough.

"So does Dr. Bones have a key to your place?"

"She does," he lied. Well, it wouldn't be a lie for long, he needed to make her a set of keys for his place, anyway. And get rid of that stupid fake rock. The guys at work would never stop giving him shit if they found out he didn't have a security system.

Parker was walking around the living room. "She has a lot of books, doesn't she?"

"She sure does, buddy."

"You said she was really really smart. How come she doesn't have any pictures like you do?"

He looked around then, startled that he hadn't noticed before. She wasn't one to have tons of pictures displayed, anyway, but she'd always had one of just her and Angela out, as well as a few of the whole Squint Squad together. There was another one of just the two of them for the paper after they'd solved their first case together that Angela had gotten printed out, and given to both of them, already framed, "_to celebrate their first case closed_." But they were all missing, now, and as he thought back, he realized that they'd been missing when he first brought her home after they left the team at the lab. Hmm. He'd file that away for later.

"Some people don't do pictures the same way, buddy, that your Mom and I do. Bones doesn't have any Parkers with his nine million school photos and little league photos all over the place." He joked, but he framed every single picture that Rebecca gave him, and had two or three in his office. He'd put them inside a drawer, though, after that Nunan woman had started asking personal questions.

"But why doesn't she have any pictures of her family?" He was like a dog with a bone. Booth knew Bones never had any pictures of her family up, first before her mother's death because she didn't want to be reminded that she was alone, and then afterward, because she was still trying to sort out how close she would let Max and Russ get to her-- though she'd never explicitly said so. He didn't blame her. The two of them had done what they could to make amends, but fifteen years of unreliable history would make anyone chary of letting them back completely into their lives, not just his Bones. But he wasn't going to get into that with Parker.

"You know what, Bub? That's kind of a personal question, and maybe you should wait until you know Bones a little better before you ask her, okay?"

He nodded, accepting the response, and then climbed up into the sofa. "Soft," he said, bouncing a bit on his seat. "This would be good for a nap."

"It sure is, Bub," he replied. God knew how many times he'd crashed on her couch-- sometimes he preferred it to his own bed.

"Hey there," he heard then, and Bones emerged from the hallway to the bedroom to come into the room. "Hi, Parker," she said, smiling widely at him. "How was your afternoon with your Dad?"

That set him off, and he told Bones all about catch and the things they'd done at the playground as she smiled and gathered her things. "Did you two decide what you're in the mood for?" she asked, as she put on her jacket.

"Spaghetti and meatballs!" responded his son with enthusiasm. "Everyone loves meatballs!"

Booth stifled a smile as Bones quirked an eyebrow at him, and refrained from giving his son a lecture on the evils of beef.

- - - - - -

They went to a red sauce place near the lab that Bones said Jack and Angela would frequent. The food was great, and the garlic bread plentiful, much to Booth's delight. Bones ate her cheese tortellini and sauce, turning down Parker's offer of part of his kids' size meatball with a smile, saying merely, "Thank you, but you're growing still and I'm not, so you should finish everything on your plate." Booth grinned, like an idiot, he felt, as Bones gently quizzed Parker on what he was doing at school, and then told him more about the things at Nature Center his son's class had just visited on a field trip.

Her foot was resting against his under the table, and he felt like the happiest guy in the world, watching his partner interact with his son, Parker soaking her up like a sponge and laughing at her small jokes. Kids always got Bones' jokes; Booth was starting to think that maybe the problem with her sense of humor was other adults, rather than her joke-telling skills. She was naturally serious, and when she tended to joke, it was usually something quiet, or nerdy. Maybe most people were used to more attention-getting attempts at humor-- but that wasn't Bones. She was confident of her work abilities, but she was actually pretty modest and self-effacing outside of strictly professional interactions, he realized, now that he thought of it. And he'd never seen her in a social situation with others outside of after-work screwing around in the lab's lounge with the squints. Even then, with her own team, the people who followed her every command during the workday, she tended to be quiet, and respond to what others were saying and doing, rather than lead the discussion. He hadn't thought of it that way before-- she was as much the provoker as the provoked when the two of them were alone together, each teasing the other. But now that he realized it, he saw that she was actually... shy.

His reverie as he watched his two favorite people laugh at each other was broken by a "Bren!" from the doorway. Looking up, he saw that Angela and a glum-looking Hodgins had just entered. He quirked an eyebrow at Bones as she jerked her foot away from his, then raised his hand in a wave, as the couple came over.

"Hey, man," he said, standing up to shake Hodgins' hand and give him a light clasp on the shoulder.

Jack smiled wanly back at him, but managed a "Hey there" that didn't sound too forced, as they both turned to watch Angela embrace Brennan and then Parker. "Hey handsome," she then said to Booth as she came around the table to kiss him on the cheek.

"Hey Angela," he said, returning the favor and then sitting back down. He hadn't seen them since he'd told Angela that he would go after Bones, and they both looked tired, still, like he and Bones still did, the last two days' changes notwithstanding. It would be a while before everyone felt back on all fours again.

"What are you kids all up to," she asked, as she took in the little tableau of the three of them sitting at the table.

"Oh, Booth and Parker dragged me out for supper after they went to the park today," Brennan offered, a faintly aggrieved look on her face like she sometimes affected when Booth dragged her out to the diner for lunch or after a case.

"I had a half day," Parker offered. "And I was telling Dr. Bones about some rocks that we saw on my field trip last week."

Hodgins' eyes lit up, slightly. "What kinds of rocks, Parker?"

"Big ones and small ones," Booth's son replied, oblivious to the smiles passing over his head between the three squints, amused by his ever-so-technical description. "Dr. Bones was telling me about what did you call them, the hollow ones with the pretty sparkles inside?" he said, turning to Brennan.

"Geodes," she said, smiling. "Did you know that Dr. Hodgins here works a lot with rocks and minerals? I bet he could tell you a lot more about them than I could."

Hodgins' eyes twinkled a bit more merrily. "The place where Dr. Brennan and I work has lots of rocks and minerals, Parker. If you're interested, sometime, I could show them to you."

Parker's face lit up as he said, "Dad, can I?"

Booth smiled and laughed. His kid was turning into a squint. "Sure, maybe some weekend or day after school when we're not busy with work, okay?" His son nodded, then launched all over again into a recitation of the field trip he'd already told Bones all about. Hodgins smiled wider, as Angela looked on fondly, and Bones turned to pat her friend's hand as the two of them watched the bug man become more animated as he asked Parker questions about all the things he'd seen. Just then, Booth's phone buzzed, and taking it out, he answered.

"Hey, Rebecca."

"I'm on my way home now, Seeley. You can drop him whenever you like."

"Okay," he responded. "We're still out at supper, but I'll call when we're on our way home, okay?" She agreed and he hung up, and when he looked back up the two other squints were smiling and wrapping up their conversation with his boy and his Bones.

"Well, Parker," said Jack, smiling broadly, "we'll let you guys finish your supper, since it sounds like it's time for you to go home soon, but you just tell your Dad when you want to come look at the geodes, and I'll make sure we do it, okay?"

"Thanks, man," said Booth, shooting him his man-to-man Charm Smile-- a slightly different one than he used on the ladies. Angela laughed at him, saying, "Don't give my fiance that smile, Booth, you'll make me jealous." They all laughed, and then Brennan got up to hug her two friends goodbye, as they walked back over to the hostess stand and were seated. The three finished their meal shortly thereafter, and Parker waved goodbye from where he was tucked against Booth's shoulder as they left the restaurant, drawing a smile again from Hodgins' otherwise morose expression. Booth decided he would definitely make time over the weekend to have Hodgins play with the museum's rocks and Parker.

Rebecca looked startled when she came out to unbuckle Parker and saw Brennan in the truck, but she masked it and merely exchanged polite hellos. Brennan accepted the hug Parker offered along with his "thanks for the stuff about rocks," and gave him a wave as he left, walking beside his mother up to their home.

--

"You're good with him," Booth offered, after they drove away and headed back to her apartment.

"Booths, I can handle," she joked, shooting him a small smile. "Poor Jack, though." He nodded. It would be hard for Hodgins, in a different way than for Bones. While the bug man was far more socially adept than Zach had been, the two had shared a bond of squinty and nerd-boy friendship that Hodgins would find hard to replace. As gregarious and generally successful with people as Hodgins was, at heart, he most enjoyed the squinty things in life, and Zach had matched him, with their bug races and hooch distilling and crazy experiments. He knew Jack didn't have any family, and he expected that Zach was as close to a brother as the bug man had ever had.

"Mmm-hmm," he agreed. "I've got Parks this weekend, I'll make sure to tell Jack. It will bore me to tears, but it'll make both of them happy."

She gave him a soft smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "There's more than one kind of family," she said, echoing his words from not long before her father's trial.

"Yeah, you're all my squints, but you're my favorite squint of all." She chuckled, and said, "I'd better be. I never thought Jack was your type."

--

They made love again, several times, before they finally fell asleep intertwined on the early side. Just a few hours later, Booth woke up, wide awake, for no particular reason, so he got out of bed, kissing his Bones softly on her head before getting up and closing the door to the bedroom. Pulling on the pajama pants he'd brought up from the duffel bag he'd packed at home, he wandered out to her living room, and turned on the sports news, switching the sound to closed-captioned so he wouldn't wake her up. Nothing like baseball scores to put a man back to sleep, he thought, as he watched the newscasters gabble over each other and pontificate like morons about the Phillies. They clearly had no respect for team history.

A half hour of mind-numbing blather did the trick, and he headed to the bathroom before joining Bones back in bed. A low moan caught his ear, though, and startled, he pushed her bedroom door open. She was moaning, and mumbling something unintelligible, and curled in on herself, all things he hated to see, but the thing that frightened him most was how even in sleep, she kept rubbing her hands and wiping them off on the bedclothes as she tossed and mumbled. He knew, but wasn't yet ready to admit to himself, what she thought she had on her hands.

"Temperance, hey," he said, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, and stroking her shoulder with his hand. "Bones, sweetheart, wake up." She mumbled and thrashed again under his hand, deeply caught in whatever she was dreaming. Sliding into the bed next to her, he scooped her up into his lap, saying again, "Temperance, wake up," as he smoothed the deep groove etched into her forehead, and winced as he realized she'd worked up a cold sweat in the short time he'd been out of bed. She jerked awake, eyes wide and unseeing, as he called her name again, then gasped when he took her chin in his hand to make her look at him. "Hey, wake up," he said, softly, as her eyes focused and she shook her head to clear her mind of whatever dark cobwebs remained.

"Booth," she said weakly, then shook her head again.

"Bad dream?" he asked, smoothing her sweat-dampened hair back from her forhead, then rubbing the exposed skin of her back as he saw goose flesh forming. She nodded, silent, then burrowed into him as a shiver struck her. He slid down a bit, pulling the covers over them both, but still held her across his lap, his hand moving up and down her back. Her eyes were closed, and she rested her face in the crook of his neck, as she worked on regaining control of her breathing, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. His gut froze as he noticed she was still chafing her hands together, practically wringing them, and admitted to himself what she was trying to do. He was sure she wasn't consciously aware of it.

Slowly, with the hand he wasn't rubbing her back with, he closed his other hand over hers, gripping them firmly, to stop her from repeating her motions. "There's no blood, Bones. It was just a dream." She shuddered, jerking her hands away from him in an involuntary convulsion, and he let go of her back to wrap his arm all the way around her and take both her hands in his. His heart broke for her as he remembered the first time he woke after dreaming of someone else's blood on his hands. He knew she would have had the nightmares anyway, but that she was still having them, even now, when she knew he was fine? He would do what he could to make those two weeks up to her, however he could-- it was partly his fault that she hadn't had the as-close-to-instantaneous relief of knowing that his blood on her hands in the club would not be the last time she ever touched him. Booth would deal with _him_ later, where the rest of the fault lay, but right now, he had to convince her.

"Open your eyes, Temperance, look," he ordered, squeezing her hands in his as he turned to place a kiss on the part of cheek not buried in his neck. "Come on Bones, listen to me." She kept gasping into his shoulder and shivering, and really, he wasn't surprised. The first time he'd had these same dreams, he'd woken up yelling every night for three weeks in a row. Everyone thought Rangers were macho, and they presented that united front to the world. But everyone sharing a barracks or bivuoac, especially the black ops teams, got used to hearing the others come gasping, or yelling, awake. They afforded each other the limited privacy in that shared space of pretending they heard nothing-- especially when it could well be them, the next night. He no longer wondered why she'd been so worn and tired even after his damned resurrection, or why her apartment was so spotlessly clean. God knows he had the spit-shiniest shoes in his unit for a time.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, chafing her hands between his, trying to warm them, "it's over, and I'm fine, and it's just a dream now." She shuddered again, involuntarily jerking her hands as he held on to them, and a cold fire grew in his gut, solidifying the ice that had grown there when he first saw her in the throes of his dream. She should be over this by now, not just tonight, but in the weeks beforehand. She should have stopped having the dreams, once she knew he was alive. That was how it worked-- when whichever of your buddies that were wounded came back to the unit, the cold, sticky, copper-smelling blood on your hands and in your nose in your dreams, the blood that coated your hands as you made them hold on long enough for medevac to arrive washed off. It stopped sticking to everything. Once they came back, you weren't supposed to feel it coating your hands anymore, waking or sleeping.

"Oh, Bones, sweetheart," he murmured, pulling one of her hands to his lips, "it's okay, really." It wasn't, though, so he clasped her other sweat-chilled hand to his chest, over his scar, his hand holding hers to him, as he slowly kissed each fingertip and knuckle, each inch of skin on her palms, the delicate inside of her wrists, the back of her hands and her forearms. He willed her to believe the proof of his heart beating under her hands and his lips pressing against her poor bloody hands, if she couldn't hear and believe his words. As he finished kissing one hand, he placed it over the scar and pressed it there, as he drew her other hand to his mouth. Her breathing slowly evened, and the cold sweat on her dried, as he switched from one hand to the other. When he finished with her other hand, he opened her palm again, placing a warm, open-mouthed kiss there, before tucking both her hands between her body and his, and wrapping his arms around her again.

"It's gone, Temperance, okay? You have to believe me. There's no more blood, love, your hands are all clean," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, since she still had her face burrowed into his neck. "It's all gone," he repeated, rocking her a little. Another shudder passed through her, and a deep, choking sob broke from her, the hot gasp of her breath on his neck shocking him with its force. "Shh, shh, I've got you," he said, shifting to pull her closer. She burrowed into him, so small and so tightly, that he almost thought she'd crawl through him if it would help make her smaller. Another sob forced its way out of her, and his heart broke for her all over again. "Oh, baby, come on, it's alright now, really, I love you, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." As he told her he loved her, a third sob broke from her before she completely let go, sobs wracking her as what seemed like an endless wash of hot tears spilled from her.

The force of her grief stunned him. He knew some of it was for Zack, but the thought that so much of it might be for him made his knees weak. He knew without further thinking that she'd worked herself numb every day of those two weeks at the lab to avoid this, but she hadn't succeeded. If she still had this much grief pent up in her even after her breakdown the other night, then he wondered what she'd done all those nights over the last three years when he'd dropped her at home after she'd allowed him to offer her some small comfort. His poor Bones-- she'd been alone too long, and too many people, including him, had let her be. Well, no more.

She gradually cried herself out as he cradled her to him, repeating his reassurances for whatever they meant, until her breathing eventually evened and she uncurled a little, though her face was still burrowed in his neck. As she uncurled a little, he rubbed his hands up and down her sides and her back, trying to rub some more warmth into her. When at last she lifted her face from his neck, he took her chin gently in his hand and pressed one soft kiss to her lips. "I love you," he said, then pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I always will," he continued, then placed a kiss over each tear-swollen eyelid, before kissing her again on the lips. "As long as I'm breathing, I'll never leave you," he promised, leaving unsaid another promise. He would never let anyone hurt her again, and if somehow, someone did, they would answer to him. As she sighed deeply, and finally kissed him back shyly, saying "I love you, too" in the smallest voice he'd ever heard from her, he started compiling his list of people who'd hurt her so far. He checked himself off his own mental list, then began to plan how to deal with the rest.


	6. Day Five

Day Five

Brennan woke as the first trickle of dawn light began to enter the room, and was instantly ashamed and embarrassed as she recalled Booth waking her and her utter loss of control in the face of his knowledge of what she was dreaming. It was her unconscious mind-- how on earth could he know that, too? At the same time that she mourned her own weakness, though, the realization struck that she was completely enfolded by him-- physically. She was lying on her back, and he had one arm beneath her neck, his hand curled along the side of her head, his fingers laced through her hair and his face pressed into her hair and neck. His other arm was slung across her waist, his body turned so that he was almost lying on his stomach, his chest pressed into and shielding most of her own. One leg was slung across both of hers. In all, she was pinned to the bed by his limbs and his weight, literally preventing her from running away from her reflections.

Not that his mere physical presence here meant anything different, in the long run. He always got around to making her deal with things she'd rather not think about. As much as she loathed the fact that she had allowed herself to continue to be so bothered by something she knew, rationally, was now resolved, it had taken him telling her that it was over until she could believe it. The storm of relief and anguish that swept over her as she thought about how it could happen again, had overwhelmed her, even as she realized that at least if it happened again, she would have known more about him than she'd ever thought possible. His presence was lulling her, though, as it had last night, and the flush of her embarrassment yielded to the heat of him and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling against hers. She never thought she wanted to allow herself to be lulled, and yet, here she was. She surrendered-- she was too tired not to let him.

- - - - - -

Thankfully, the damned phone didn't wake him up. Instead, it was simply the sun coming in the windows that woke him, and his own body finally catching up on some of the sleep he'd lost the last week and more. His own nightmares about Nunan's bullet finding its intended target stopped as soon as he saw her again. It was the sheer and simple exhaustion of staying up too long while working the case from the appearance of the mandible to the horrible conclusion that had been wearing him down. Sleeping with Bones was better than any sleeping pill, though, and he felt more refreshed in these last four days than he had in the whole two weeks when he did literally nothing in that safe house. Of course, he always felt better around Bones, even when she annoyed or worried him, because no matter what mood either of them was in, she always took him at face value. His reputation as a tough agent, or freakishly good marksman meant most people were afraid of him, in one way or the other. They were either outright intimidated or puppyishly overawed-- when the macho ones weren't trying to out-compete him. But she was never afraid of him, which was probably the realization that started his falling in love with her.

She was still sleeping beneath him, her face still and untroubled. She wasn't wearing the small smile she wore when she slept the first few times after their loving, but he had time, and untroubled was better than the upset she'd shown last night. He was furious for her, at all the people who'd ignored how deeply she felt things, and hurt her, but another part of him swelled with pride that she was willing to let her guard down around him, and trust him, when she wouldn't trust anyone else.

He hesitated about whether to leave her alone in the bed again, but he was fairly sure the storm had passed, and the mental list he'd prepared as he held her last night demanded some attention. Sliding his arms out from around her, he pulled the covers more firmly over her, and took his phone from the bedside. Time to get to work.

"Booth, hi," Angela answered, her voice reflecting surprise both at the early hour and at the caller's identity. "Is something the matter with Bren?"

Good. He'd started in the right place, he realized. That was the first and right question she should ask, if he was the one calling her. "No, Ange, not in the sense that you mean. She's perfectly fine, really."

She sighed a little. "That's good. I was surprised to see you convinced her to go out with you guys last night. Although she does like Parker, you know." Her voice made it sound like a bit of a secret.

"Well, that's good," he said, wondering where to start. Well, with normal social pleasantries first, before he indulged in his obsession. "I have him this weekend after all, maybe Jack would be willing to give him a rock show." Her laugh bubbled up, and he smiled.

"I'll mention it. I think it would make him happy. Thanks."

"You could come too, you know," he said, realizing he meant it. He often tended to think of "his" squints in their supporting scientific roles, but if he was being honest with himself, they'd become friends, too, often more understanding and accepting than some of the Bureau and Army buddies he did things with, occasionally. Not that his job left a hell of a lot of time for socializing, and not that he'd done much to begin with since he started working at the Bureau, even before he came to prefer Bones' company over pretty much anyone else's.

"That would be nice. What about Bren?" Her voice was curious, and he knew he'd have to tread lightly around her, at least until they made it clear that though they were now involved, they would refuse to work with anyone else, professionally. Angela had clearly decided a long time ago that he and Bones should be together, and while he didn't disagree with her, she could be a bit too persistent sometimes. He didn't want her prompting suspicions until he and Bones figured everything out.

"She said it sounded fun. Look, Ange... if you don't feel comfortable talking with me about this, I'll understand, but I've been worried about Bones and something Sweets said the other day made me wonder. Did she get any sleep at all, those two weeks?"

Angela inhaled. He supposed she was surprised that he'd even brought it up, after everything else that had happened, but he needed to know. "You know," she said, "she mostly slept at the lab. I made her go home one day to get clothes to change into, but mostly, she'd take a nap for two hours, max, then get up again and get back to work. She wouldn't eat anything, either, though I suppose you'd have figured that out for yourself. I tried, but honestly, she'd have two or three bites of something, then gaze off into space before hopping right back up to work. You know how she is when she's got that freight train look in her eyes." He did. Even he found it hard to break her focus when she was in one of those moods. He didn't blame Angela for not succeeding, and had been pretty sure before now that she'd tried to do what she could for Bones. Hearing her say it reassured him that someone had tried to take care of her, even as the information about the two hour naps made him certain she'd been putting up with those nightmares the entire time.

"Did... ah... did Sweets ever come around to see how people were doing?"

"You know, it's funny," she said, musing. "Now that you mention it, it was a little odd. He did come around, and tried to make himself available, although honestly, I just don't know what I think about him, but he was asking a lot about Bren. I don't think he ever talked to her directly, though." His gut clenched. He _was_ treating her like a microbe under a microscope. That little mind-fucker.

"So you're telling me that the only person he didn't try to console was the one person who was actually his patient?" He bit out the question, managing to keep the highly colorful epithets he wanted to use to describe the little rat bastard behind his teeth.

"Basically," she replied. "Why, what's going on? Are you sure she's okay, Booth?"

"I think she's fine now, actually," he said, "I just stepped in it bad, you know, not calling her myself, and I want to tie up any loose ends remaining, that's all." Angela didn't need to know about the way Bones had reacted over the past few days as he'd deliberately poked and prodded at her, and it was true enough what he'd said, though there was more to it than he'd admit to Angela. But that was their business, no one else's.

"Well," said Angela softly, "she may not admit it, but she missed you, Booth. If you ever do something like that again, though, I'll kill you myself."

He chuckled-- she was a good friend, indeed, to threaten to kill Booth. "I'm sure you will, and I'll do my best to avoid it, okay?"

"It's a deal," she replied.

"Thanks, Angela. And... take care of yourself, not just the bug man, okay?"

There was a pause, and then she said, "Same for you, Booth. Talk to you later." With that, she rang off.

- - - - - - - - - -

Closing his phone, he went over his list of things to do, sorting which needed working on now, and which could wait until later. He'd been gone ten minutes, and was worried about leaving her sleeping alone again, so he went back in her room to check on her. Thankfully, she seemed to still be sleeping peacefully, and he couldn't deny himself the urge to get back into bed with her and feel her against him. As he brought her to him, she sighed, unresisting as he pulled her to lie on his chest, then mumbled and snugged herself against him. He didn't ever want to go back to work.

He idly played with the strands of her hair, letting their silk slide through his fingers. In sleep, she looked younger, and he marveled again at what a front she showed to the world. The Bones he knew, his Bones, was sly and silly, provocative and passionate, analytical and ironic all at once-- she'd always been that way with him, after their first few cases. Every time he defended her to people who never bothered to get to know her, he didn't wonder why she was so guarded around others. Most people were too intimidated by her fierce brilliance, that stare she had when people got in the way of her finding the truth, and assumed she was arrogant, rather than just... more focused than anyone else they'd ever encounter in their lives.

He'd found it not impossible to suppress the twinges of lust he had when they first started working together, but after the case with Charlie Cook, he realized that the stunning body shielded not only the most frighteningly bright mind he'd ever met, but a ferocious passion for the same things he held dear. Sometimes even more so-- he'd gotten cynical over the years, and while it never affected the intensity he brought to his cases, her hot sense of purpose to solve their cases never wavered, no matter how tired she got. She doubted herself outside of work, but she'd never yet doubted the importance of closing each case. Each one was as important to her as the rest, no matter how heartsore she was at the end. Once he realized that, the words "sexy" and "gorgeous" were only as arousing in combination with "brilliant" and "fierce." Then, it wasn't lust anymore.

- - - - - - - -

Brennan woke again slowly, her first awareness that he was still with her. Replacing her old and more usual awareness that she was alone. Still. But now, she wasn't. One arm curled under her, his hand splayed lightly and possessively across her hip, while the other played with her hair. He'd always been incredible tactile, even when they were "just partners," always touching her or invading her personal space, but she'd let him invade it, almost from the start. When they'd argued that first case at the gun range, he literally got in her face, but instead of punching him as she might have to some other male, she invaded his space right back. He was tactile, too, with his son, holding the boy, or roughhousing, or just reaching out to ruffle his curls or tap his hand to get his attention. To a lesser degree, he was tactile with the team-- holding the door for Cam or Angela, clapping Jack and even, occasionally, Dr. Sweets, on the shoulder-- but he never, ever, initiated or reciprocated touch with business colleagues or strangers. He was physically imposing, of course, and he used it to his advantage when questioning suspects and witnesses, but she was beginning to realize that to him, touch of any kind was an extremely intimate act, and that he only allowed himself to be touched by people he cared for-- and even then, he was on guard with many people he would admit were his friends. He was intensely private, in the end. Of anyone she'd ever seen him interact with, she was the one he touched most, and she was the only one he let touch back. If her mind had been open to what her eyes had observed and noted, perhaps she'd have realized how much she meant to him, and how much she would miss his touch, his physical presence, when she thought he was gone.

"Stop thinking and kiss me," he said softly, one finger caressing her cheek. She'd lain with her eyes closed, thinking, and enjoying his warmth.

"Maybe I wasn't," she teased.

"Bones, please. I can hear every gear in that head of yours. You're shamefully neglecting me by not immediately kissing me the instant you're awake. You don't want to hurt my feelings now, do you?"

"Well, I was thinking about you," she said, as she tipped her head up to look at him, "and I was thinking about how nice it is that you're here." A slow, sweet smile spread on his face, and she shifted enough to place a soft kiss on his chin.

"Okay, then, you're forgiven, he said, warming all over at her solemn and earnest expression. "But you're only allowed to either kiss me immediately or think nice things about me first thing in the morning," he teased, then bent his head to her upturned face to kiss her.

"Deal," she said with a smile, when he released his lips from hers.

"What do you want to do today, Bones?"

"This is nice," she replied, sighing softly and laying her head back on his chest.

"Nuh-unh, Bones," he said. "I know for a fact that the only time you left the house yesterday was when we had dinner, and as much as I'd love to spend the whole day in bed with you, we should get out and get some sunshine."

She wrinkled her face. "I don't tan, Booth."

He poked her, lightly. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Someone will get murdered soon enough, and then it'll be 3 am telephone calls and midnight takeout and the only time either of us will see daylight is if we're out at a dig or on our way in to question somebody. Or chasing a perp down an alley. It's sunny out, and we are going outside." His tone was light, but he was serious. She was too dedicated to work, sometimes. Everyone at the Bureau called him a workaholic, so when he thought she'd been working too much, it was definitely time for her to get out.

She grumbled, but didn't resist when he got out of bed and pulled her up after him, then dragged her into the shower. He resisted the strong urge to make love to her against the bathroom wall again, but if he was going to act on the plan that formed in his mind as he played with her hair while she slept, then he needed to get them both going. She laughingly offered him her razor again, and he swatted her on her behind when she started fighting him for mirror space. She reflected that with other lovers, it had still been an intrusion, one she tolerated. Sharing with him felt right. He finished before her, and when she emerged, hair dried and makeup in place, he was already dressed and piling some of her clothes into the duffel, even as he left some of the things he'd brought for himself onto her unmade bed.

"Where are we going?"

"Just for a night or two," he replied, with a smile that made clear he wouldn't tell her anything more. "No place we can't drive back from, if needed, and nothing fancy," he continued, "so just get whatever girly stuff you want to bring for the next two days." He dove back into the duffel, and pulled out two sets of her skimpiest lingerie. "_I _already packed your underwear, see?"

"If that's my underwear, then I don't suppose I'm wearing my pajamas, other than this," she said, waving her arm at her own naked form.

"You got it in one, Bones. I always knew you were bright." Amused, she went back to get the kit she always kept ready, and handed it to him along with her hairdryer.

"Of course you have something ready to go," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, if a certain Special Agent wasn't always hauling me off with less than a few hours' notice, then maybe I could be a little less organized."

"Enough back-talk," he said. "Dress. Stop taunting me with your delectable nakedness."

- - - - - - - -

They had a quick breakfast again at her local coffeeshop, then returned to the truck, since they'd already brought everything down. Each made their calls to their bosses and friends who might be looking for them, each relieved to get voice mails that only required them to say they'd be out of town, and available by cell phone as needed. Both deleted new messages from Dr. Sweets on their work phones. Brennan reflected on how Booth's jaw had also clenched, the night before, when she played her home answering machine, only to find another message from the psychologist. She found it hard to pity the boy when Booth got around to venting his anger. She knew whatever he would do would be justified, and after her own outflow of emotion last night, she found herself recalling Booth's earlier words about 'psychological torture," and felt less inclined to let the young man's actions pass without further confrontation.

As she thought further about it, she became increasingly angry. She was certain the psychologist's actions were geared toward exploring her psyche, in particular, and while that was Booth's basis for anger, the boy's actions had been as potentially harmful to Booth as herself. The young man had no idea of the depth of Booth's intellect, or his sensitivity. He tended to treat Booth as a typical alpha-male, without perceiving the underlying passions that drove Booth. But had Sweets succeeded in causing a rift between them, then he would have deprived Booth of the one person in whom he confided, to whom he showed weakness-- his best friend, as she knew that she was even before she sorted out the rest of her feelings for him. It had been hard to muster anger on her own behalf, but now she was furious at how the manipulation endangered one of the foundations Booth's strength rested upon. That it happened to be her was irrelevant.

"What's up, Bones? I can hear those gears grinding again," he asked, after watching her expression pass from thoughtful to angry.

"What's the expression? Idle hands are the devil's playground?" She looked at him, waiting for his confirmation or correction. He nodded, and she continued. "I was just thinking about our therapist's too-idle hands. He probably thought it would be interesting to see if I would either be so angry or... something, that I might not speak to you again. He has no idea who we _are,_ Booth. He especially has no idea who _you_ are. I can't believe he would thing that it would only hurt me, and not you."

As he spoke, her voice became heated, her eyes firey, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the truck over to the side of the road and make love to her right then and there. She was angry for _him_. That little shit had twisted her into pieces, and she was angry for _him_.

"Well, Bones, you are going to punch him first, before I beat him up, right?"

She snorted, but her face was still angry. "That's too good for him. No, I'll think of something appropriate," she said, her voice almost purring the last word as her face became not thoughtful, but vengeful-looking. He was somewhat surprised, but only somewhat. Zack, of all people, had told him, "_Dr. Brennan worked effectively with her father while you were missing, Agent Booth_," and while he knew she would never act as her father did, the small but deep flashes of anger she occasionally displayed during their cases left him no doubt that when motivated, she could and would play mind games, too. He wouldn't press her on it further. They worked well together. If she decided to do something, he'd back her up on it, whatever it was. When her face cleared again, to merely amused, he drew her hand over and kissed it.

"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Precisely," she said, a feral grin on her face. "He has no idea how complementary we are." Her full-throated laugh made Booth smile. What was the phrase? "_The female of the species is more deadly than the male_." Exactly.

- - - - - - - - -

"It's lovely," she said, as he parked outside the small and charming Victorian inn at their destination, a small town on the Eastern Delaware seashore that was a popular, but small, summer destination.

"Mid-week rates, too," he joked.

She snorted. "Seeley Booth. Romantic, and budget-minded."

He pulled their bag from the trunk and they walked in. The innkeeper was glad to see them-- it was still the start of the summer season, and mid-week, and the rest of the inn was empty. He showed them up to their room, then offered to go over the sights with them when they were ready to go out again.

"Thank you," said Booth, hefting the bag up onto the bed. "It was a bit of a drive, but we'll definitely want to know about someplace for supper." The innkeeper left with a smile, closing the door behind him. She went out on the small porch adjoining their room, watching the waves roll up onto the beach. "Master suite, eh, Bones? We should play hooky more often," he said, coming to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist. She leaned into him, smiling at how quiet it was, but for the waves' roaring.

"Seeley, it's lovely," she repeated, her hands on his pulling his arms tighter. "Why this particular town, though?"

He hugged her tighter. "That's a surprise, Bones, you'll see first thing tomorrow."

She turned her head up to look at him, enjoying the silly and self-satisfied grin he wore. If it made him happy to think about it, she was sure she would like it, too, whatever it was.

He nuzzled her neck a bit, unable to stop himself, until a couple walking the beach passed by not too far away and waved at them, breaking the moment. They waved back, and then Booth straightened. "Okay, Bones, I said sunshine. Let's go." She allowed him to push her back into the room, and she pulled her phone and wallet out of her bag, stuffing them in the pockets of the windbreaker he insisted she bring.

- - - - - - - - -

They spent their afternoon idly, walking the boardwalk, stopping in the arcade to play skeeball and airhockey, and holding hands like new lovers, because there was no one they knew likely to see them. He teased her into a game of miniature golf, only to get his ass kicked after she mastered the _'basic physical principles involved in the shots around the obstacles imposed by the course makers.'_ They had an early dinner, because they'd skipped lunch, at a little place recommended by the innkeeper, and were practically the only patrons, assuring them quick service and hot food. She teased him for ordering his steak and potatoes, and he quipped about her 'rabbit food' entree, and they held hands for most of the meal.

They skipped dessert for another walk on the boardwalk, his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, until they reached the bandstand. A flock of older year-round residents had gathered, to listen from their lawn chairs as the big band played old jazz and popular standards, and the two of them sat on a bench at the edge of the park, listening. He hummed along with some of the tunes his parents liked to listen to, and she watched him, enjoying his enjoyment. It was early in the season, and they were the youngest there by at least twenty years, but he laughingly pulled her up from the bench when the band began to play "_Our Love is Here to Stay_," singing her the words as she laughed and let him twirl and dip her as the oldsters looked on and sighed, then began to get up and dance themselves. "_In time the Rockies may tumble, Gibraltar may crumble, they're only made of clay, but our love is here to stay_," he sang in her ear as the stars came out and couples who'd been married longer than they'd lived danced around them. The band continued to play dance-worthy songs, and as with before, once they started dancing, neither wanted to stop, so they continued until the band wrapped up its rehash of every Sinatra and Miller and Fitzgerald and Armstrong hit. She was surprised, but only somewhat, to find that he knew most of the words to most of the songs. The ones he didn't know, the couples now dancing around them supplied the words to. When the band stopped playing at ten, they made their way back to the inn, letting themselves in with the the key the innkeeper gave them, saying, "I tend to go to bed early, but you two feel free to come and go as you please."

The moon was out as they danced and walked back to the inn, and was visible over the water from the windows facing onto the porch. After they'd turned off the lights, undressed for bed, and drawn open the curtains to let the moonlight in, he teasingly claimed he hadn't danced with her enough at the bandstand, because "all those old people didn't move fast enough," so he tuned the alarm clock radio to some station playing more pld standards, and they danced some more, until she laughed herself silly at all his ridiculous attempts to turn every instrumental seque into an opportunity to dip her and pepper kisses up her neck.

He loved hearing her laugh, and seeing her smile, so he was intentionally ridiculous-- it made him deliriously happy to see her drop her usual reserve, and just give in to enjoying herself. As she smiled and let him lead, twirl and dip her in their room, their naked bodies touching as they danced and the moon shone in from the beach, he reflected that the only comparable happy moment in his life except these past few days had been when he held Parker the first time-- but as much as he loved his son, Bones was an equal, and while she let him take care of her, the simple fact was, she took care of him, too, in her own way.

Eventually, their dancing and laughing gave way to more serious embraces, and neither minded when the dancing naturally led to pulling the covers back on the bed and settling, together, onto the sheets. "This was a good idea," she said softly, as she lay next to him and traced her fingers across the line of each defined muscle, as he did the same with each muscle and soft feminine curve.

"Are you giving me credit for something, Temperance?"" he asked, laughingly, as he rolled on top of her and began nipping at her curves with his mouth.

"Is that so rare?" she said, smiling up at him as she reached between them and grasped him, stroking him firmly.

"Well, now that you mention it," he replied, "you could give me a little more credit, sometimes." He gasped, then, as she stroked him hard with her small but strong hands.

She smirked, and repeated the motion. "I did say I finally knew why you were a _Special _Agent, Seeley."

He laughed aloud, then growled, "I'll show you what's special, Temperance," and then, proceeded to do so.


	7. Day Six

**_Many, many apologies for the delay in getting this up, and many thanks for all your PM's and Reviews asking when it would come. Suffice it to say, a hard drive crash and warranty part replacements do not make for timely rescues of already-written chapters. I ended up having to just re-write this one, and I hope you'll find it to have been worth the delay. Thank you, as ever, for reading. ~blc_**

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* * *

Day Six

"Nnnnrrrgh," Bones grumbled when the alarm went off at four thirty the next morning. "'S still dark out. Why do you hate me?" she whined, her eyes closed shut against the bedside lamp Booth flicked on.

"Come on, lazy Bones, I thought you were a morning person," he teased, pulling the covers back from her and running his fingers over the ticklish spots on her sides he'd had the joy to discover. "We need to get going, or you're going to miss the whole point of this little trip. And I would pout. You don't want me to pout, do you?"

She cracked an eye at him, still looking supremely annoyed. "'M a morning person when someone doesn't keep me up for three hours trying out the first thirteen pages of the _kama sutra_."

"My poor Bones, it was only eight pages and an hour and a half" he laughed, then started nuzzling her belly and breasts. "I promise you can take a nap later, but you really need to get up. Please?"

She looked down at him, still shielding her eyes against the bedside lamp, and laughed despite herself at his completely insincere pout. "You'd do better with the Charm Smile," she grumbled, then rolled up onto her side to glare at him.

"Come on, baby," he said, pulling her the rest of the way out of bed and into his arms. "I'll even wash your hair for you."

"Grr," she said, her eyes still half-shut against the light. "You'd better condition it, too."

His meek "Yes, Bones," was belied by her yelp as he threw her over his shoulder and carried her off to the shower.

* * *

Washed and dressed, her damp hair in a ponytail and under a baseball cap at his insistence that she'd need it, she watched with amusement as he filled a day pack with water, her camera, some sun block and chapstick, some fleece underlayers and a packet of tissues, humming all the while.

"Do you carry that many provisions when you take Parker to the park?" she asked with a smile as he shouldered the pack and stepped out onto their porch, holding the door open and urging her to step out.

"More fruit roll ups, juice boxes and wet wipes, but yeah," he said, shooting her a grin. "Boy scout habits die hard, Bones m'love," he continued, slinging his arm around her shoulder as they walked the dozen yards between their room's porch and the boardwalk.

It was still cool and foggy from the overnight air; the moon had disappeared from the sky, though the stars were still visible through the slow-greying sky as they walked toward the piers. The businesses were still shuttered, everything but their security lights off, casting small pools of fluorescent light along the boardwalk. Between the foggy air and the quiet of no one else stirring, their steps on the boardwalk seemed unnaturally loud, though both she and Booth moved more quietly than most, given their hand-to-hand fighting training. She breathed the cool moist air deeply-- even the salt air seemed muffled in the pre-dawn quiet.

As they drew closer to the pier, however, smaller clumps of people joined them on the boardwalk, almost all seeming as sleepy and quiet as Brennan felt. As the boardwalk spread out at the pier, Booth steered her toward one particular pier whose lights shone more brightly in the grey. As they drew near, Brennan observed several dozen others waiting in front of a dock marked with a sign that simply read "Sunrise Cruises." The boat was the smaller type used for coastal tours, with an internal cabin area surrounded by windows, as well as large bow and stern areas with seating all around the sides and both ends of the boat. The people waiting were a true cross section-- families with children, older groups of friends, some couples like she and Booth, a few groups of teenaged friends-- and there was no way to tell the particular reason for their gathering.

Soon enough, one of the boat's crew came and unhooked the rope sectioning off the ramp down to the boat, and checked off names as everyone proceeded through the gateway. Booth had, indeed, made reservations, and Brennan smiled at how much trouble Booth had gone to to make this small getaway both romantic and relaxing. Though normally Booth's insistence on not telling her everything about what they were going to be doing would drive her batty, her grumbling was more for show than anything else. He usually knew what would make her happy-- and she could at last relax enough to let him.

The boarding was accomplished with efficiency and the boat slid away from the dock, the boat horn unnecessary as not even fishing boats were out in the harbor. Booth steered her inside the cabin at the starboard side near the bow, close to an exit to the outside. After they deposited their things to claim a small booth, he dragged her back toward a well-stocked breakfast buffet, and quickly began loading his plate. "Ah, I see why we're here," Brennan jibed. "It's not a sunrise boat cruise you're after, it's the breakfast buffet."

He snorted and added more sausages to his plate. "Nah. The buffet's just a bonus. Have some eggs Florentine, Bones, no meat in those."

She rolled her eyes at him, but took one of the spinach and hollandaise laden eggs, then added some fruit salad to the plate and headed back to their booth. He followed her back to set down his plate, then went off to get them both coffee, coming back and contenting himself to work on his over laden plate as she ate her own breakfast more slowly and sipped at her coffee. Brennan watched the light shift from gloom to grey to a pre-dawn silvered pearl as the boat cut with some speed through the water, their seats on the dawn side of the boat's travel. Even if the sunrise was all they saw on the trip, it was lovely, she reflected. It had been more than some time since she'd just taken the time to watch the sun come up, rather than see it fleeting in her rearview mirror as she drove to or from work.

"This is nice," she said with a smile, and he grinned at her around his fourth strip of bacon. Really, she thought to herself, the man had pig fat and butter and beef tallow running through his veins. It didn't seem to slow him down, however, and she knew the Bureau made all their field agents have annual checkups, so she assumed his cholesterol and blood pressure weren't out of control. She smiled again as she realized she fussing internally over his long-term health-- things a wife did. Somehow the thought didn't scare her like it might have.

"Glad you like it," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye telling her there was some other surprise he planned on. The usual initial announcements as they set out from the harbor had only welcomed them and told them it would be "forty five minutes until we get where we're going," and repeated the usual warnings about life jackets and emergency procedures. He got up, dropping a kiss on her cheek, as he went to refill her plate and she finished her fruit. When he returned, he had laden his plate almost as high again, and added a bran muffin onto a new plate for her. "Here. Have a little something more."

Brenan shook her head. At least it was a bran muffin, and he wasn't trying to stuff her with sweets, like the chocolate chip pancakes he had on his own plate. "That's disgusting," she said as he smoothed three pats of butter over the pancakes and smushed them around in the puddle of maple syrup he'd poured on.

"Gotta feed the machine, Bones," he said, grinning again and mock-flexing his arms.

"Honestly," she mumbled around a bite of her muffin. "Why you don't weigh three hundred pounds and have false teeth is a medical mystery."

He snorted his coffee and gave her a glare before laughing himself at the mess he'd made on the table in front of him. "Temperance Brennan. No jokes while I'm drinking hot beverages. Or carbonated beverages. Or any beverages at all." She just stuck out her tongue at him and silently handed him napkins from the tabletop dispenser to mop up all the coffee he'd sprayed. He finished the task, then regarded the coffee-sprayed pancakes. Shrugging, he cut into them with his fork and started eating again.

"Booth," she sighed.

"What? It's all going to the same place," he said with a wink. "Now they're just mocha chip pancakes. Not bad, really."

He quickly finished his pancakes, then looked over his shoulder and noted the transition from pearl grey and ombreed periwinkles at the horizon to streaked pink and lilac. "C'mon, Bones, let's go outside," he said, taking her hand and tugging her out of the booth. He pulled her to a point right at the rail between two benches on the starboard side, almost as close to the bow as possible. There were some other passengers already drifting outside, including some families who were boosting their smaller children to stand on the benches and along the rails-- Booth noted the wondering look still on Bones' face and did cartwheels inside at the fact that she hadn't yet guessed the point of the trip. He pulled out her camera and fiddled with the settings as she leaned over the railing, content to look at the bow wake as the boat made its steady way toward the horizon. He shut off the shutter noise on the camera so he could take as many pictures as possible while she wasn't looking.

Dawn was well on its way as everyone made their way outside, more people gathering behind them, and more children standing up on the benches on either side of them. Bones seemed taken by a small, serious little girl with pigtails and colorful striped tights standing not far away from them, and kept shooting her glances. When the little girl caught her look and gave her a small wave, Booth couldn't help but take a picture as Bones gave her a small wave in return. He gave the little girl his own wave as he put down the camera, and she stared back at him, ever so seriously.

Finally, though, as he caught the first sliver of sun at the horizon, he slid the camera around and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back into him, resting her head on the side of his neck, snuggling against him in a way that still made his heart do flips. The boat slowed almost imperceptibly, and he adjusted the brim of his own cap as the sliver of sun yielded to a brightening curve rising surely before them. A flicker ahead caught his eye, and he for once was only grateful for the ingrained "scan all sightlines" sniper training he'd had, for this one purpose.

"Bones," he said quietly, raising one arm from her waist and bringing it up to point in the direction of what he'd just seen, twenty or so yards away. "Look."

Bones gasped just as the little girl who'd been watching them followed Booth's arm and yelled "Dolphins!" A chorus of squeals and "oohs" from children and adults alike followed the small girl's alert, then fell silent as the boat drew slowly closer.

The pod breached and leapt as the sun rose further, the pinks and oranges of daybreak now in full blaze. For some ten minutes the dolphins frolicked, diving and flipping as they swam toward the boat, seeming to know they had an audience who would appreciate their antics. The boat drifted close enough for Bones to say softly "They're smiling," as several of the more active dolphins tail walked to the excited cries of the children. Finally, though, as the roseate sky brightened to blue, the dolphins slowed their dawn celebration and swam away with a few tail splashes and parting leaps. Bones practically strained over the railing watching until the last tails and flukes disappeared from view, her expression the same blend of joy and disappointment that the show was already over that the children wore as the last tail flipped under the water. He squeezed her around the waist, thrilled by her reaction, but as always, Bones surprised him. She turned suddenly in his arms, and kissed him with such complete and happy abandon that he was breathless even as he gripped her more tightly and kissed her back with everything in him.

He was dazed when they parted for air, her arms still twined behind his neck as she looked at him with the happiest look he'd ever seen yet on her face. One of the old men in the two older couples standing next to them laughed as he caught Booth's eye. "I'd say she liked the surprise, son," he said, and then winked.

"I did," Bones said, then pulled up to kiss him again, murmuring "very much," over his lips.

They stood at the railing for much of the ride back into the harbor, the announcer now explaining the migration and play behaviors of the white-sided Atlantic dolphin and their sunrise and sunset appearances now that the "sunrise surprise" was all over. Brennan listened with nary a criticism for the narration, clearly pitched for the children's understanding, and instead smiled and watched the families and other couples around them. At one point, Booth left her, claiming "I need the john," before disappearing inside. The little girl she'd been watching made her way over to Brennan, giving her a shy wave as she approached. "How come the man with you saw the dolphins first?" she asked soberly. "They were really small when he saw them."

Brennan squatted in front of her, meeting her serious gaze, and gave her the answer she always gave children-- the simplest, most truthful one. "He saw them because he always looks out for me."

* * *

After departing the boat, they walked the length of the pier and back, each noting aloud whale watches, deep sea fishing cruises, and other ways of seeing the sights, then walked in to peruse the shops they'd avoided the day before. Brennan picked out a few small items for her nieces and Parker at a small woodcrafts store that Booth made a show of putting in his day pack with a grunted "Man, carry game back to cave" that had her laughing as hard as the shopkeeper. Booth didn't tease her at the way she carefully picked through the selections to find just the right gifts, and when they went into a glass shop full of sun catchers and sunrise and sunset-colored vases and bowls, insisted she pick a sun catcher for her kitchen window and a bowl or vase for her office. They arranged to have the items shipped back to Brennan's apartment rather than carry them back to the inn, and spent much of the rest of the morning holding hands as they idly roamed the shops and looked at the Victorian houses blooming with tulips, forsythia and iris in what passed for the downtown before they headed back toward the boardwalk.

"What do you want for lunch, Bones?" Booth asked, his arm looped through hers as they watched the foot traffic begin to pick up.

"Onion rings, french fries, and root beer," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Bones!" he said, clutching his heart in shock. "That's not salad! What's wrong with you? Are you feeling okay?" He then made a show of placing his hand across her forehead, testing her for fever. She swatted him lightly before tiptoeing up to kiss him, her sneakers not bringing her to the usual height she had in the heeled boots and shoes she most often wore for work. He tiptoed up just a bit, effectively staying out of her reach. "Shrimp," he said, then jogged back as she reached out to swat him again.

"I'm not a shrimp," she said. "You just happen to be too tall."

He laughed as she adopted a serious expression to accompany her declaration, then said, "Yeah, that's it. I'm too tall because I eat meat, and you're a shrimp because you don't even eat shrimp."

Brennan's response was automatic, a slight frown as she thought wrinkling her brow. "Booth, that's not true. I ate meat all throughout my growing period, though it's been shown scientifically that it's the absence of adequate dairy protein, rather than meat protein, that adversely affects a person's height and growth during pre- and post-adolescent growth periods. A vegetarian diet need not impact a person's height so long as genetics is also in their favor, but your assumption is illogical, whereas I most likely ate the same standard American diet you did at least through early adolescence."

"Okay, shrimp squint," he said, pulling her into a hug and kissing her until she gave up explaining. "Onion rings and french fries it is. I suppose you want ice cream on that root beer, too."

"I might," she said with a smile.

* * *

"This is nice," she said, fishing another fry out of the paper takeout container and dipping it into the tartar sauce that came with Booth's clam strips. They were sitting on the sand, close to the water, the cartons of fried food and two root beer floats before them as they watched the morning's low tide slowly advance to the high water mark just below them.

"It is," he replied. "We should come back when it's warmer, the innkeeper says he does priority reservations for past customers. We could actually go swimming, maybe I could race you on a sailboard."

"I'd win," Bones replied with a smirk. "It's pure physics. I'm lighter than you are, and am well versed in the aerodynamics and principles of hydraulic propulsion necessary for successful navigation of unpowered watercraft."

"Nerd," Booth replied, leaning over for a kiss. "It's a date. We'll see about your physics, there, Bones. I'll have you know I'm a wicked fast sailboarder. And not a bad hand with a surfboard."

"I've never surfed," Bones said thoughtfully.

Booth clutched his heart again, and flopped backward into the sand. "What? Something you've never done? Bones! Say it's not so!"

She chucked a french fry at him, then another when he pretended to be wounded.

He sat back up, leant over to nuzzle her until she kissed him back, then broke off for air. He guzzled the rest of the clam strips, then reached for the box of onion rings, only for Bones to snatch it away even as she slurped down the rest of her root beer.

"Mine," she said cheekily. "You just ate a peck's worth of clam strips, and lots of the fries and the onion rings. I want the rest."

He lunged for the box, but was surprised at how quickly Bones sprang to her feet, dancing away from him with the box held over her head. "Booth!" she teased. "You're always at me to eat, and the one time I express an intent to finish a portion of something, you want to take it from me?"

He rose to his feet laughing. "Yep. Pretty much, Bones. Now hand over those onion rings."

"Catch me," she said, sticking her tongue out and dancing away from him again. She started jogging backwards slowly, waving the box tauntingly in the air.

Booth, never one to back down from a challenge, especially one given by Bones with that twinkle in her eye, lunged forward and started to chase after her, their bag and the rest of their food left on the otherwise mostly empty beach. She laughed as he ran toward her, then turned and ran, heading down toward the firmer sand at the water line to get better traction under her feet. Booth was surprised by her quick burst of speed, and pushed harder, coming soon within arms' swiping distance, only for her to put on yet another burst of speed. She quickly put two, then three, then four arms' length distance between them, waving the box of onion rings in the air as she ran ahead of him, shooting him glances over her shoulder as she ran.

Booth couldn't believe it, and started getting not annoyed, but slightly wounded in pride. Who knew Bones could run like that-- though come to think of it, she often took off after suspects and got them before he did, though he'd always attributed that to the small delay occasioned by his needing to draw or secure his weapon before running himself. He started sprinting flat out, calling "Bones, you slow that ass down or I will spank you like the bad girl you are when we get back to the inn!" She just tossed a look at him and sped further, a laugh floating back over her shoulder.

He finally slowed, lungs burning. They'd run so far he could hardly see their things back behind them, though he wasn't particularly worried about them being stolen. Hearing his feet stop pounding behind her, she slowed, turned, and jogged back, her cheeks pink and strands of hair escaping her ponytail and the confines of her baseball cap. He flopped back on the sand gasping and she dropped to a kneeling position over him, chuckling before sitting down, her hips over his.

"Here," she said, pulling an onion ring out of the container she'd somehow managed to hold onto the entire time. "Open, says me," she chuckled, dangling the fried morsel over him.

He obligingly opened his mouth and let her feed him, then laughed as she pulled the next piece out of the container and made a show out of eating it seductively, deliberately overplaying the way she licked the crumbs off her fingers.

"You're a big goofball, Temperance Brennan," he said, then chomped the next onion ring she offered him.

She snorted. "Don't let it get around, I'll never keep discipline over my students." She made another show of eating the next onion ring, ridiculously licking the inner part of the ring before sucking the batter off, and Booth hardened under her at the way she was teasing him.

"Damn, Bones," he said. "Only you can make an onion ring sexy."

She smiled, then held out the last onion ring. "I saved the last one for you."

He grabbed her by the waist suddenly and flipped her onto her back, tossing the carton and onion ring before he shoved his hands up under her shirt and started tickling her mercilessly.

"Where'd you learn to run like that?" he demanded, running his fingers over her ribs until she was wheezing with laughter. He kept tickling her as he teased, "Come on Bones, you've got to stop laughing and give me a straight answer if I'm going to stop tickling you, otherwise we'll be here all day."

When tears started streaming down her face from laughing so hard, he relented, then hauled her up to her feet as she wheezed. Gathering the sandy carton and now-ruined last onion ring, they walked slowly back to their things, then returned arm in arm to the inn. The innkeeper smiled from his desk as they came in, saying nothing about the fact that they were both nearly coated in sand.

* * *

"I don't want to leave yet," Brennan said, as they showered again, after packing their things and getting everything ready so they could check out.

"I know, Bones, me neither," he replied, reaching to hold her to him under the hot spray of the water. He didn't resist the urge to suck at her neck and was rewarded with a sigh as she tipped her head to the side. He placed another kiss there, then murmured "But he needs the room for the long weekend, and I've got Parker starting Saturday anyway."

She sighed and nodded. "Well, we'll just have to come back, and bring Parker so you don't miss any time with him."

His arms tightened around her reflexively. "Really?"

She turned and looked at him, regarding him seriously. "Of course."

"You don't... I mean, you're not..." Booth stammered.

Brennan tipped her head to the side. "I am not certain I want to bear children myself, nor am I confident in my potential as a mother, but Parker is your son and he's a delightful little boy. I would never try to compete with your son for your attention." She paused for a moment, hesitant to voice the next thought, but she supposed she should just say it rather than worry what Booth might think. "I just hope he likes me..."

Booth's face softened as he pulled her into a hug. "Of course he likes you, Bones. He's a Booth, it's in his genes."

She chuckled against his chest, her fears allayed for the moment. "I admit I'm not very good with children, but I do enjoy his company."

He tipped her head up to look at him. "You're great with kids. You don't talk down to them, you tell them the truth, and unlike most adults, you're willing to answer every question they ask you. Plus, you laughed at Parker's dachshund joke four times in a row, whereas it's all I can do not to clap my hands over my ears the minute he starts to tell it again."

Brennan protested. "I like that joke. It's funny. 'A long little doggie...'" she said, a smile curving her mouth.

Booth smiled. "See, great with kids. What did I tell you?"

Bones smiled up at him at his praise, and he made a vow to himself to find some way to get a gorgeous, room-brightening smile out of her every day. He bent to kiss her, his hands sliding over her water-slicked curves, and she ran her own hands up his sides as she pressed herself to him, her tongue seeking his eagerly. They each deepened the kiss, and he turned her so her back contacted the wall of the shower, the coolness of it sending a shiver through her as the heat of her body pressed into her front.

He cupped his hands under her read, kneading her gently as he ground his hips into hers, his mouth sucking at the hollow of her throat and sipping at the water pooling in the hollows of her collarbones. Her own mouth made its questing sucking way over his chest as she held his head to her, one foot trailing its way up the back of his well-muscled calf as he continued to press her into the wall. He caressed her back and bottom one last time before his hands sought hers, twining his fingers with hers as he bent to suck and sip at her breasts and the water running in the valley between. She gasped as his mouth closed over her nipple, the firm press of his tongue on her and the warm suction of his mouth a near-overwhelming sensation-- despite the lovers she'd had, despite all the exploration she and Booth had made of one another's' bodies already, his touch was always intense, exciting, entrancing and utterly, completely welcome. His hands pressed hers to the wall on either side of her hips as he turned his attention to her other breast, sucking, flicking and kissing as small thrills of pleasure spread to her core.

Her head fell back against the hard tile of the wall as the hot water still streamed over them, the hot moist air filling her lungs as she gasped his name when he knelt before her and startled to lap at her core. Pulling her hand in his, he pushed her leg up and leant on it with her hand trapped under his until she was exposed to him. As he continued his slow licks and swirls over her folds and her sensitive nub, her breathing became even more ragged, her head rolling back and forth as he began thrusting his tongue firmly and slowly inside her. "Seeley," she groaned, as her hips bucked of their own accord against him, his hands pinning hers to the wall preventing her from squirming too far away from his mouth. His only response was an appreciative grunt as another swirl of his tongue inside her caused her hips to buck into him again, and his hand pressing her upraised leg into the wall only pushed harder as he increased the pace.

Her moans echoed off the tile of the walls as he slowly built up the tension, the fact that they'd been lovers for less than a week meaningless against the way he seemed to instinctively know what reactions he could draw from her body. He sucked and flicked his tongue over her, thrusting and lapping until she finally shattered, screaming her pleasure as her knees started to wobble-- but just as she was sure she would fall, he caught her under her legs, lifting her and bearing her into the wall as he entered her.

His groaned "Temperance" as he filled her only vaguely registered through the continued throes of her orgasm-- coming back to herself, he was thrusting slowly into her, his eyes closed in concentration as he held her up and sought his own pleasure. Shakily wrapping her arms around his neck, she hooked her heels under his legs, and arched against him, drawing him in as he thrust again.

He sped the pace, eyes heavy-lidded with desire as she gazed back at him, breathing heavily as she strove with him until her head fell back against the tile, the completion of his filling her again overwhelming him. "I love you," she whimpered, then cried out wordlessly as his next return to her came harder, less controlled, her affirmation of love to him as always breaking through his control. She tightened her grip on him as best she could, each return of his body to hers driving a call of fulfillment from her. His own thrusts became almost frantic, his groans of her name coming louder and longer as she began to clench around him.

Each came at the same time, she with a shrieked "Seeley!" and he with a roared "Bones!" each panting and shaking against one another long moments as their hands still gripped hard at the other. Finally, each opened their eyes to gaze at the other.

Bones, licking her lips, spoke first. "I don't know if he'll give up a priority reservation the next time if he figures out we're the ones who ran up his hot water bill to astronomical figures."

Booth's roar of laughter as he pulled her into his arms again was as loud and as full of amazement and love as that of his climax just moments before. Both warmed Brennan all the way through, despite the now-cold water pouring over both of them.

* * *

After dressing and checking out of the inn, Booth navigated the truck back toward the pier, finding a spot not far from the cruise line they'd taken this morning. "Why are we back here?" Brennan asked, curious.

"Just come on, Bones," he said, tugging her hand as he came around to her side to help her out of the truck. They walked into the main office, and one of the young woman Brennan had seen circulating on deck with a camera smiled at their entrance. She reached beneath the counter, emerging with a large manila envelope.

"Mr. Booth, right?" she said with a smile, then smiling as nicely at Brennan as they reached the other side of the counter.

"Yep," Booth replied. "Everything come out okay?" he asked, taking the envelope and starting to open the fastener as the young woman nodded and waited.

He slid the items in the envelope out with their backs facing Brennan, looking at them critically before flashing the girl at the counter a smile. "Great. Really. Just great."

She smiled back, and said to both of them, "Well, we're glad you had a good time, and we hope you'll come back later this summer. We have open air and sunset cruises too. There are even more in July during sunset."

Brennan's brilliant smile as she replied made the young woman fall silent. "Then we'll be back soon, for certain."

* * *

"What are they?" Bones asked, as they got back in the truck.

Booth smiled, but just handed her the envelope as he started the engine and pulled out, heading back to the highway.

"Oh," she said, when she'd pulled out the envelope's contents.

There were two sets each of three photographs-- one, capturing Brennan's gasp of amazement as Booth's arm, extended just under her chin, pointed out the dolphins ahead, the second as they exchanged a passionate kiss during Brennan's abandoned response to the surprise, and the third, as Booth stood behind Brennan, his arms circling her waist as he rested her chin on her shoulder, and she rested her head on his neck, peaceful smiles on both of their faces.

"You like them?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

"I love them," she said, her fingers tracing the line of Booth's arm in the first photograph showing the feeling she'd tried to describe to the little girl on the boat-- forever captured on film. _"He saw them because he always looks out for me."_


	8. Day Seven Part Two

Pain In the Therapist Day Seven

They woke early, each aware that it would be time soon to go back to work, and pick up a new routine that meant they were partners in every sense of the word. They weren't dreading the return, but each knew that their need to be completely "professional" even after they disclosed their relationship to their superiors meant that neither could be as expressive as they might otherwise be. They'd already decided Brennan would tell Angela before they returned, since she'd been so insistent that she and Booth belonged together. Brennan called her to suggest that they have an early supper, though she didn't say more than "I have something I wanted to discuss with you if you have time."

They spent most of the morning doing nothing—he made them breakfast, they showered, and then he settled into the couch to catch up on the sports scores he'd missed while they were on their mid-week trip. She laughed as he groaned or cheered as the various replays came on the television, then settled herself next to him with a book she'd been meaning to read. He shifted, needing more contact with her than just hip-to-hip as he watched the scores, so he sat back against the arm of her couch and pulled her to sit between his legs, her back against his chest as she read. He flipped channels idly, looking again around the living room. It felt like home—it had for a while even before this last turn of events, but he'd never been certain of his full welcome before. Now he was, and it was wonderful to have one-- his own place never felt like anything other than a waystation, except perhaps on the weekends when Parker was there.

He clicked the sports channel off, and snugged his arms around her more tightly as she continued to read her book. Heavy squint stuff, from what he could tell by looking over her shoulder. He loved just getting to be with her—it wouldn't be just short breaks when they were working on cases anymore. They were more, now—and he could touch her (almost) whenever he wanted. He loved that she willingly leaned on him now—like in the last photo from the boat.

The photos from the boat-- he'd unpacked the copies when they got back last night. He'd set them on the entry table as a reminder to go out and get frames, but he'd been enjoying just kicking around with Bones so far today that he only remembered them now. Parker's question, an innocent one in his innocent voice, came back to him. "_How come she doesn't have any pictures_?"

"Bones?" he asked, deciding to tackle it head-on. He squeezed her around her waist as she said "Hmm?" and half turned over her shoulder to look at him.

"Where are all the photos you had hanging up, and on the shelves? And… Brainy and Jasper? "

He'd been almost insanely gleeful over the years when he'd see her display his tokens in the open along with a picture of the team, with them at the center, and another one of just the two of them, together. As Parker had noted, however, those items and every other real personal effect, not her more impersonal artworks were gone from view. He knew for certain they'd been here the week before he was shot, he remembered picking up Jasper and making him and Brainy talk to each other about Bones' stubborn insistence of "No more Mee Krob, Booth, until we get this next page done." She'd laughed, tossed a chopstick at him, and said "Jasper's voice is deeper, more like Dr. Goodman's," before ordering him back to the table to sign one more form.

As he waited for her response, Bones flushed then looked away, the book in her hand shaking as she said "I put them away." He craned his neck—just from the view of the side of her face, she looked more upset than she had in days.

There was something off-- something bad—something festering still, but though his gut iced over again, he wasn't yet positive what it was. So he pushed a little. "The ones with me in them and Brainy and Jasper I get, but why the ones with you and Ange, and the team from before I came along?"

She shook her head, refusing to look at him as he shifted to the side, still holding her close, trying to gauge her expression. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice small and half-pleading.

He tipped her face around so she looked at him. "Bones, you know you can tell me anything, right?"

Her eyes changed under the weight of some memory—that _something_ still festering. "It doesn't matter," she said, quietly. "I've been meaning to put them back up, I just put them away while I was cleaning."

She was telling the truth about everything except her assertion that it didn't matter. The way her eyes dulled as she said it was proof positive, and his gut iced over again. People only put away personal items, but not everything else, when they were selling their own house, or that of a loved one who… bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it.

"Were you planning on someone other than you needing to sell your apartment, so you cleaned up your personal effects for them first?" Oblique, but direct at the same time. She jerked, a look of panic spreading over her face even as he held onto her, willing her to respond.

"I don't know…" she stammered. "I just needed to put them away, just…"

"Just what," he pursued. "Just in case? Just…what, Bones?"

"I don't _know_," she said weakly, looking and sounding increasingly anguished. "I… I just couldn't… I couldn't _sleep… _I couldn't _eat_… I couldn't _breathe_…" Her pupils had widened and her breathing was ragged, so he let go of her face and tucked her head under his chin, clasping her face to his chest.

"I couldn't _breathe_…" she repeated. He knew she'd already forgiven him, but it was still a gut punch to be reminded how much she'd been affected. All that time he'd thought he was just maybe her best friend, when he should have known by the fact that she let him get away with stuff she'd clock anyone else for that it went far deeper than that. But he'd convinced himself just because Bones wasn't obvious about how she felt that she'd be _fine_ those two weeks—despite all the time he'd spent rooting out other deep feelings that weren't obvious, but that he still _knew_ were there. Bones was the master of denying herself things that she wanted, and he damned well knew it, but he'd lulled himself into thinking there wasn't any part of her that wanted him because he'd been the one who was chicken. This was what he got for his foolishness, his poor Bones almost as fragile as eggshells.

"Sweetheart," he murmured. "I'm so, so, sorry, I wish I could go back and make everything better, but I can't. But everything's going to be fine, and I'm not planning on going anywhere, so you're stuck with me, hunh?" He stroked her hair, hoping she would believe him and that her upset would subside, but his question acted like a lance to a badly infected wound, and that _something _festering burst forth.

"You can't promise what you can't control," she said, her voice strangled. At some point since he'd tucked her into him so that the join of her neck and shoulder were the first thing he could see, right under his nose, she'd grasped his arm with one hand. She was grasping him so tightly, her knuckles white, that he wasn't quite sure she wouldn't leave bruises if she didn't let go soon. "I… couldn't eat, all I could smell was blood. I couldn't sleep… you kept falling," she choked out, hot tears starting to soak through his shirt at the collar.

"I couldn't breathe … you weren't coming back, and I was _glad_ I couldn't sleep because if I did I didn't want to wake up, so I could just stay at the lab. I didn't have to _go_ anywhere, didn't have to drive and wonder if I could just close my eyes and let _go…_" She choked again, then started sobbing silently, ashamed for admitting how weak she'd felt, and yet relieved to have finally told someone—no, not someone—the only one—how she actually felt those two endless weeks.

She never once, ever, let anything that ever happened to her make her anything but more angry and determined to _show them_, whoever they were, that she was _fine_, that she was stronger than them. But when Booth was gone? There was no one to show that to—no one that mattered. He wasn't around for her to prove to him that she didn't need him—the fact that she did need him, and only knew it clearly after he was gone and she could never tell him… it was a never-ending loop of bitter anger and anguish. Never before had she helplessly wished for something, anything, to make the pain stop—a drunk driver, a bolt of lightning, something. Something that would make it impossible to hurt so much.

She'd put the pictures and mementoes away after the third nightmare that third night he was dead – it woke her up and a frenzied dusting of bookshelves reminded her that not only was he gone, but that nothing any of her friends tried to do for her could ever make it better. They loved her, and it wasn't enough. And she loved him, but he was gone. She had to put all those reminders of failed love away, so she couldn't see them and be reminded that she'd never be happy again. Being in denial about why precisely she'd never be happy again made the anger and anguish and confusion only deeper, more strangling. She'd been drowning in it by the time the funeral came. She'd only started breathing again when her fist hit his jaw.

Up to that point, she hadn't actively planned anything, but the thought of "_I'll put these away, too, because if someone needs to clean this place after, in case I'm lucky and I just don't wake up_," definitely passed through her mind. She didn't know if she would have gotten to that point, back then—"_you can't miss what you didn't have_" maybe had some currency. Now? She didn't know, still, how she'd react if he died again. Maybe happy memories would be enough. She dreaded the thought of ever being without him.

She continued to choke on her sobs as tears leaked from her eyes, all the while his hand stroked circles on her back. His warm arms encircled her and the reassuring sound of his heart beat under her ear, but he'd been silent and his breathing was more ragged than it usually was—until a hot tear, then another, and another, dripped onto the side of her neck—not from her, but from him.

Booth was so furious at himself and at Sweets that he hardly cared that he was crying, though he never cried—it just wasn't something he _did_. He stopped crying at twelve, when the best way to protect his family from their dad was to get in his way, and then not give him the satisfaction of crying—his father would invariably get tired of hitting or using the belt before Booth would give him the satisfaction of crying. He didn't even do it when he was alone all that time "growing up"—as if he hadn't grown up from the first time he saw his mom get a black eye. But not crying kept him in good stead in the Army when he was taken—they wanted the satisfaction of breaking you. The longer you held out, didn't cry, didn't talk, didn't make any noise that let them know they were getting to you, then the longer your squad had a chance of finding you.

But it wasn't true he _never_ cried. He'd had a lump in his throat the whole time from his realization at the hospital until the time he shot Kenton, his eyes swimming after she collapsed on top of him, her still-bound hands circling his neck. He'd hardly been able to breathe around the hard lump in his chest when she first called him from New Orleans, and it only slowly dissolved once he'd made sure that whatever else happened, she was still _Bones_. He'd excused himself to the bathroom more than once during those hellish hours while she and Hodgins were buried, so he could wipe furious tears from his eyes and punch the wall hard enough for the physical pain to distract him, make it possible to make the tears go away long enough so he could _focus, goddamnit, focus_, on getting her back.

He'd known, even before he knew he was in love with her, that she was good, and clean of any ill purpose, and wanted to help him—he knew all along that she offered a chance not to regain his innocence, but to be able to stop believing that everyone was already evil, and would inevitably act on it. She still had hope that people were good— she made his hope possible again.

She was so strong, to hope like that—and yet he almost broke her, when all the dangers she'd faced since he'd known her and whatever she'd never told him about her life before him hadn't. Booth didn't need to forgive himself—he could make it up to her every day for as long as she'd have him. But _him_—he was going to pay for playing with her. Sweets was never going to forget what it meant to hurt Bones, and Booth would make sure that he lived every day in fear of what would happen if he tried it again—fear kept people submissive, and if properly applied on a continuing basis, the person in fear would do practically anything to avoid a repetition. Booth had no qualms, none whatsoever. It wouldn't be torture—it would be justice, personally rendered. If she was _gone_ by the time he came back, and all because he didn't take the time to make sure she knew, and relied on someone else, _Sweets_, to protect her…. Well, that was the ultimate failure—one he wouldn't have gotten over, one way or the other.

He clasped her tighter, almost convulsively, rocking her slightly as more angry tears slid down his face and splashed on her neck, until she shifted to look up at him, realizing the source of the tears. "Booth," she said, sniffling, "I'm okay now," then smiled at him waveringly. Her attempt to make him feel better for something he'd done to her, the fact that even as much pain as she was clearly still getting over didn't stop her from trying to comfort him made his heart burst, overwhelmed by all the reasons he loved her all over again.

"God, Bones, I couldn't do it without you, I can't do without you at all…" he choked out, then pulled her mouth to his, pouring all the need for her that he couldn't express aloud, at least right now, into a ferociously passionate kiss. Her hand came up to his neck to steady herself, responding with her own need, arisen again by admitting what she'd passively wished for, if not actively planned.

She took his seeking, desperate tongue into her mouth, kissed him back with all the breath in her lungs, wanting nothing more for the moment than to assuage herself that at least for now, she had him. Time spent dreading the future would only prevent her from enjoying time now spent with him.

He shifted, standing and bringing her with him as he made his way toward her bedroom. Tears streamed disregarded down his face as he undressed her, and her hands trembling, she worked at his shirt and pants. Freed of their clothing, he lay alongside her, then slid an arm under her as he hitched one leg between hers, pulling her half under him as he started almost desperately kissing and stroking her. He needed to be in contact with as much of her body as possible—to assure himself she _was_ fine.

Each touch and searing tear on her skin made her own need more urgent, and she threaded her hands in his hair, fingers flexing as he took one breast into his mouth, sucking deeply at her. She arched into him, the firm heat and suction as his tongue flicked hard over her nipple spreading fire though her—then arched again as two of the fingers exploring her dipped into her lightly. She was ready, aching for him, and as his fingers filled her, she thrust her hips against his hand seeking more. She groaned wordlessly as he started to pump his hand into her slowly, ignoring her hips' faster, more frantic thrusts.

He paused for breath, then switched his attentions to her other breast, reaching across her to fill his mouth with her. His weight pinned her to the bed, and her own mindless arching, thrusting attempts to gain relief from the need consuming her were forestalled, the tension in her building unbearably higher as he continued. She could only moan and whimper as he continued, her feeble bucks against his hand losing rhythm and his mouth sucking not just her breath but her will from her. His fingers plunged into her deeply, but he was going so slowly that it seemed like each return to her heat took hours, or days, or eons.

"Oh! I… I need…" She moaned. He'd been so caught up in the need to taste her and feel her-- her pleading call brought him back to himself in a jolt. He looked up then, and her face was a rictus of tension as her hips bucked against him again.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry" he said, hastening to enter her. She cried out as he completed his thrust, her hips surging upward to meet him-- she grasped hard at his shoulders and pulled him closer. His own groan as he came hard to the end of her walls erupted from that part of himself he tried to mostly ignore—the part that before meeting her was so afraid that each day would be the day that he failed that he could hardly get out of bed in the morning. He'd met her when he almost needed something outside himself to keep that part from taking over— she was it, ever since, even when he didn't even know if he _liked_ her. The fact that she _dared_ him—"_be a cop_," she'd hissed-- to do better at the work they were doing together was enough.

Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him to her in almost a frenzy, even as she cried out each time their hips met. He braced himself on one arm as he kept up the fast rhythm she was demanding, then sucked his thumb just long enough to moisten it. He stroked her once and she shattered. He pulled her to him as he paused in his motions, holding her as she arched and wailed from her climax, her walls gripping him strongly as she flooded around him. He was still astonished that she wanted him making love to her, still stunned at how beautiful she was anytime but even moreso when she was in the throes of her release that his heart practically burst.

She gradually calmed, noting she'd somehow managed to hold on to him despite the force of her orgasm, and pulled him to her again as she opened her eyes, still feeling slightly dazed. "Oh…" was about all she could manage, so she smiled at him instead, then was instantly dazzled by his amazed smile and the tears still leaking from his eyes. She pulled herself up to reach his lips, and sighed into his mouth as he let his weight settle onto her, his still-solid length nestling deeper within her as he returned the kiss. As the kiss continued, she arched her hips into his, and he pulled away, then returned in response.

Their arms wrapped around each other as his weight bore hers into the bed. She drew her knees up to better receive him, and met his short slow thrusts with her own-- he levered himself to return to her only a few inches at a time, wanting to remain inside her as long as he could.

Their kisses were interspersed with gasps for air, their bodies moving together, until the tension gradually built in both of them, and she began to shudder in anticipation of her climax. She clung more tightly to him, and her fluttering walls drawing him to speed and lengthen his thrusts— her shrieked "Seeley!" as she came again, had him following her immediately with his own gasped call of her name. She enfolded him with her arms and legs so completely, as his own release pulled him into her. He never wanted to leave. He was safe as long as he was with her—and made it possible for him to keep her safe, too.

Gradually, she stirred slightly under him, one of the hands holding him to her now tracing his brow and jawline. He shifted, leaving her to lie next to her, propped on his elbow as he looked down at her. Her dexterous fingers made their way over the rest of his face, brushed lightly under his tear-reddened eyes, over his lips. "Love you," she rasped, licking lips parched by their exertions.

"Love you," he croaked back, laying a hand aside her cheek as he bent to kiss her again. He rested his forehead against hers, and stared at her long moments, her eyes as always drawing him in. "Promise me…" he said, solemnly, not able to finish the thought aloud.

She nodded, swallowing, keeping in mind both by the memory of how she felt when he placed himself in harm's way, as well as his own '_I can't do without you_.' "Promise me… and I'll try."

"I'll try…" he said, then kissed her again.

She stroked the side of his face again, eyelids fluttering from the intensity of their lovemaking and the emotional storm that preceded it. He lowered himself again, lying on his side until he could pull her half under him again, holding her as closely as possible while their chests pressed together. His heart, still beating hard from their exertions, was met by her own echoing throb. She was fine, now. He'd make sure she stayed that way.

* * *

Booth's mischievous side emerged when they woke from their short sleep, and after they'd bathed and he'd loved her again in the shower, he convinced her that while she would still go out with Angela for dinner, they would surprise her with the news together. He lounged against the wall of the bathroom, teasing Bones that she took more time getting ready to go out with her friend than she had with him the past few days. She smacked him-- "like I said… if a certain Special Agent wasn't always dragging me out in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning, I might have more time to make myself presentable."

He took two steps forward and encircled her waist, saying seriously to her in the mirror, "You're always presentable. Never think for a moment that you're not always the most beautiful thing ever."

She looked at him a long moment, then smiled one of those wide, stunning smiles, that were no longer as rare as they once were-- before saying slightly "Sap."

He snorted and kissed the side of her neck. "Yep."

He let go then, and wandered off to the bedroom to get changed into some real clothes. He had some plans of his own while she was out.

When Angela appeared, he was putting away some things in her bedroom, and he finished that task before sauntering out. Her expression was priceless. "Oh, Booth, hi…" she said, startled to see him coming out of Bones' bedroom.

"What are you… are you staying with Bren… is she …" she stammered, then fell totally silent as he came up behind Bones, wrapped his arms around her waist, and planted a long kiss on her gorgeous lips as she turned her head to look at him before answering the artist's question.

"Not staying with," he began, smiling.

"Living with," Bones continued, announcing the decision they'd come to in the car ride home yesterday, once she'd turned to him after a long period of thought and said "_I don't want you to go home_… _I want you to stay_."

Both partners were fairly sure that Angela's deafening scream of "Oh my God, finally!" might have inflicted permanent hearing damage.

* * *

Booth saw Bones and Angela out, prompting another squeal from Angela when he dropped a short peck on Bones' forehead as he held the door open for them. He finished collecting his things and left, making his way purposefully toward his destination after stopping at his apartment for a few more things. Bones' heartbroken "_I couldn't breathe … you weren't coming back_" was playing on repeat in his mind as the ice in his gut fueled the formation of the last few details of his plan. He was going to return some of Bones' pain.

* * *

It went as he hoped it would, though he wasn't really surprised. Security at most apartment buildings was lax, and they never had enough cameras to cover all the possible sight lines. He'd just walked in the front door, made his way up the stairs to the floor he'd learned was his destination, and picked his way into the apartment in such a way that any passerby would think he was just using a key. Then he waited, knowing it wouldn't be long.

It wasn't, and he pounced, returning to the therapist a small fraction of the pain and anguish and fear he'd caused Bones, carefully measured so he would bend and stay cowed, but not break. People couldn't be useful if they were broken—he wanted Sweets just this side of deathly afraid. He finished making his promises, because that's what they were, solemn vows he intended to keep, then gave his last warning.

"Good," he said, slamming Sweets back into the wall one last time. "One last instruction. Don't call us. We'll call you." He let go then, noting with satisfaction the stunned terror on the young man's face.

Booth pulled his sleeve over his hand, avoiding all fingerprints, as he opened the doorknob and went out in the hall. He shut the door behind him silently, but not before he turned and said, "Be sure to lock up now, Doctor Sweets. You never know who might try to get in." The flicker of terror in the therapist's eyes told Booth he'd succeeded perfectly.

He waited a moment outside the closed door, then heard a whimper and the slide of a body whose knees just gave out from fear hitting the floor with a hard thump. Good. Carefully, consistently applied fear would achieve the desired result.

* * *

Bones got home not long after seven-thirty or so, and laughed to see him at her sink, washing dishes and singing along, loudly and badly to some Bon Jovi blaring from her stereo. "Found more of my shameful music collection?"

He smirked, then said "Whitesnake, Bones? Even _I _don't have Whitesnake. And you need more Van Halen. Thank goodness I have most of the CDs you seem to be missing. Your hair metal collection is surprisingly spotty. You don't have any G'n'R whatsoever."

"G'n'R? I don't know what that means," she said, setting her things down and coming over to plant a kiss on his cheek.

He snaked an arm around her waist until she was facing him. "Guns n' Roses, Bones? Really? _Sweet Child of Mine_?"

She shook her head. "No, sorry."

He tried singing the first few lines to her, "_She's got a smile that it seems to me/ Reminds me of childhood memories/ Where everything/ Was as fresh as the bright blue sky…_" but she just smiled and kept shaking her head.

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

"Well," he said, a thoughtful expression on his face, "it's a good old song. I'll bring the CD over—you should know that one."

She kissed him back, then headed off to the bedroom to get rid of her coat. He kept singing the song to himself after she left, trailing off after the part that said "_She's got eyes of the bluest skies/ And if they thought of rain/ I hate to look into those eyes /And see an ounce of pain…_"

* * *

When Brennan came back out, he'd heated water for tea, and cracked a beer for himself. "What have you been up to," she asked, as she ruffled through her cabinets looking for the teabag she wanted.

"Paid a visit to Sweets," he said laconically.

"Ah," she said, turning around to catch the dangerous glint in his eye as he smiled at her. "Well, good. I had some ideas of my own. When will be good to pay his office a visit?"

Booth looked at the clock, then thought for a moment. "Sometime after eleven, I think. What were you thinking of?" The furious glint in her eye as she smiled at him and outlined her ideas promised as much pain as anything he'd just given to Sweets.


End file.
